The Malab Stone War
by Ars Arpadok
Summary: Clone Commando Gregor has been re-learning his trade under the tutelage of the Null-ARCs. Now, he's been given a high pressure espionage assignment to complete on his own. With some help from an old friend will he be able to outsmart the Seps and make it out in one piece? Rated M for possible language and references to adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

And we are back! I warned some of you that this Gregor thing had a hold on me. This story is going to run rather longer than the last one and while it's still primarily focused on Gregor and Thena it is more plot driven as opposed to the very character based outing of _The Knight in Narglatch Skin_. There will also be more Nulls, though they'll mainly be kind of drive-by characters for most of the time. As a bonus to those who like to unpack their reading material a little more the title of this one (like _Knight_ too actually) should give you a clue as to what kind of story this is and a bit of information about where we're going.

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with LucasArts, Disney etc. I do not own any recognizable Star Wars property characters and will make no money off of the 'publication' of this work.

Read and Enjoy!

* * *

Murkhana was supposed to be beautiful. Gregor had read all of the briefings and background documents Prudii had scrounged up pre-mission. The word that kept cropping up over and over was graceful. The cities, especially Primaye Murkha, were constantly described as possessing a dark, alien grace. Gregor thought he must still be too young to understand what that meant because Murkhana didn't look a bit beautiful or graceful to him.

It was dark; that was for damn sure. Prudii had told him that the star it orbited gave off light mainly in the ultraviolet spectrum. They'd had to ionize their armor and visors accordingly to deal with it. The cities were illuminated mainly by weak, fluorescent strips attached to the ceilings of dwellings. The native population, who had been living there for a dozen or so generations, had all adapted to the low light and now couldn't stand real illuminations.

That was the cities, which did have a number of tall spires made of some reflective material that seemed to glitter blue in places from the fluorescents. Those might, he allowed during the fly-by, be seen as beautiful by the lonely or the desperate. Gregor and Prudii, however, weren't in a city. They weren't even in one of the bleak little towns along the ice choked rivers at the edges of the industrial zones. They were right in the heart of the North-Central-Mountain Manufacturing Zone and if Gregor had ever seen a less lovely place he could not think of it now.

The heavy industrial pollution of the various factories had long since made this central block uninhabitable by most humanoid species. Only droids worked here now, occasionally inspected by a foreman in heavy protective gear. The clouds belched out by the smokestacks were captured by vast synthsheet-traps and sluiced into chutes to be reprocessed or dumped below the planetary mantle. Prudii was impressed by the efficiency of the system and the way the Murkhanans managed to keep their atmosphere relatively clean of particulates. Gregor supposed he was right. Prudii was one of the cleverest people he could remember meeting, but he still found it hard to be impressed.

* * *

"Three-Nine, Three-Nine copy?"

"Copy Five. Hawkbat seven, over."

"Hawkbat seven?" The voice on the com squawked impatiently. "Temporal on Hawkbat eight? Over."

"Six seconds. Three-Nine out."

He's running on time. He's got another eight seconds before he needs to be positioned on the far northeast ledge on the top catwalk, Hawkbat eight as he and Prudii have named it. He's displaced from Hawkbat seven, the half-way point between it and his insertion area, and is running for his next point. Prudii's suddenly impatient to get this mission over with and it's starting to annoy Gregor. He likes to be thorough, careful, make sure everything's done properly and completely. Of all the Nulls Prudii seems to be the one most like him in that respect, or at least he did until 0450 this morning.

Gregor had been on the coms then, letting his counterpart get some sleep, when the message came through. It was coded 0-0; Null to Null only. Gregor, being the type of man who respected the privacy of others so that they'd remember to do the same to him, had sent it straight on to Prudii without another thought. Five minutes later the Null was on the bridge in full armor demanding they move the mission timeline up by two hours. Gregor was unhappy but did as he was told; reworking the careful plans three times rapidly until he was satisfied it could be done. Prudii had given it a cursory review and a nod and away they'd gone.

Now Gregor wishes he's at least checked out where that message had come from, or which Null had sent it, even if he would never have read it. Whatever was in it had done a great deal of damage to Prudii's usual methodical demeanor. With an inaudible sigh Gregor makes himself focus on the task at hand. Given the changes he's got to pay twice as much attention now; be sure Prudii's sudden impatience doesn't make him reckless. Whatever was in the message will have to wait.

He crouches on the catwalk at position HB-8 taking care to magnetize the soles of his boots. The catwalk is designed for droids and narrower across than his armored shoulders. He un-slings the new-lightweight sniper carbine Prudii had lent him for this mission and slid it out. The low railing is his stabilizer. He has to wait four seconds instead of two for the fore-droid to zip into his range finder. But his aim is unaffected by the adjusted mission profile. He hits the droid with the minute disruptor slug directly over its rear reactor. The fore-droid stutters and halts, limbs loose and dangling like a cut-string marionette. Gregor slings the rifle and coms Prudii.

"Five, come in Five."

"Five. Status."

"46 down. Proceed."

"About time. Five out."

Gregor rolls his eyes behind his newly polarized helmet visor. He's actually one and one half seconds ahead of schedule. But Prudii's gone off and now it's up to Gregor to make sure they don't miss anything. He blinks the magnets off his boot-soles and runs cat-like and silent to the low door at the end of the walk-way. He doesn't go through, the conduit's too narrow for him to move at speed. Instead he jumps over the railing, catching the walls with his re-magnetized boots and gauntlets to down climb to the floor level.

He can't see Prudii but that's to be expected; the Null is working from the south end of the facility. Gregor sprints to the consol, shouldering the deactivated fore-droid aside. Pulling his data-probe from a thigh pouch he plugs in and starts the override procedure for plant quality control. It's finicky, usually Prudii does this himself, but today he wanted Gregor to try his hand. After more than three months of sabotage work Gregor's reasonably confident he can manage this.

It's taking longer than expected. This facility makes the new model commando droids. It's the first of its kind they've managed to find and Prudii was very, very eager to 'even the odds' as he put it for the rest of the boys in white. Gregor's happy to face the challenge too but the process for assembling the advanced droids is, predictably, more complicated than standard models.  
He bypasses three layers of quality control specs, altering them slightly as he goes and swears as he finds an unexpected fourth and fifth level of inspection protocol. He can probably crack the fourth one, it's pretty similar to the third but it's going to take time, more than they have. Worse, the fifth set of inspections is encrypted with something he can't even begin to make out. So much for being able to work solo. Gregor sighs and blinks up his com to contact Prudii.

The crump-thunk of igniting plastoid interrupts him. Suddenly the entire south-west corner of the facility goes white with heat-wash as something explodes. His visor tries to compensate as he drops behind the consol, leaving him momentarily blind. There's a tinkling crash as the first set of catwalks comes away from the walls and falls into the leaping flames. Gregor claws his way out from under the desk, yelling down the coms for Prudii. It's a gut-clenching four seconds before the Null answers. He's breathless and sounds like he's running.

"Three-Nine copy, stop shouting would you? I've already got a headache from that little mishap."

"Mishap? What in_ haran_ did you do? I thought we were supposed to be doing this undetected."

"What, you pissed that you didn't get to blow it up this time around?"

"Psargail was a mistake."

"What about Trilon?"

"That was Jaing!"

"Regardless Gregor, ner vod, you do seem to have a tendency of leaving a burning trail of debris in your wake."

"Where are you Prudii?"

There's a soft thud behind him that has Gregor spinning, pistol drawn. Prudii straightens up and slaps the gun down in a single movement. The blast has taken the stripes off his armor from the thighs down. His boot soles are all but ruined, ridges melted smooth by the heat.

"You're going to get hurt waiving that around."Prudii snarls before grabbing him by the elbow.

"C'mon junior the coating's off my armor, at least partially. We have to get out of here while we can."

Gregor digs in his heels, pulling Prudii off balance with his unexpected resistance.

"What the shebs? We are going Gregor. I will stun you and drag you if I have to."

"We can't leave yet."

Prudii un-holsters his blaster and thumbs it to 'stun.' Gregor swallows and keeps going, turning away from the Null and hoping he doesn't get shot for his trouble.

"This has to look like an accident or they're going to tighten security."

"Gregor we don't have time for this, the place is going to go critical in about fifteen minutes. We need to be in the air before that."

"It needs to look accidental." Gregor insists, scrolling through the protocols on the consul as fast as he can.

"I can't break through the fifth level encryption, I got caught by security, why d'you think I had to light them up?" Prudii growls.

Gregor swallows, a little scared that Prudii was foiled by Sep security. But he doesn't give up.

"Okay, okay. What about the fore-droid?" He all but shouts.

"What?" Prudii demands, starting to raise his gun.

Gregor dives for the still inactive fore-droid, yanking the data probe out of the consol and jamming it into the droid's main data-port as he does. The chest plate pops open and Gregor starts frantically testing and pulling at circuits. He needs five seconds, three if he's lucky. He keeps working, always expecting the searing cold-heat of a stun blast on his back. But Prudii lets him go.

"There." Gregor shouts, elated.

"What'd you do?" Prudii demands, shouldering over to look into the chest cavity of the fore-droid.

"Stripped out the main motor control, surge-locked it into the motivator coils and the repetition centers. It'll look like a malfunction, like the fore-droid cracked under radiation decay and disabled the safety feature on the production line."

"Doesn't the production line need to be sped up?" Prudii groused.

Gregor pulls the data-probe free, ripping off the demotivator slug and hitting a button on the consol. The hum of the conveyors cranked up to a scream, then a reverberating moan that had the walls shaking in sympathetic harmony. Prudii nods once.

"Now can we go?" He asks.

Gregor nods back and runs after him through the raining debris shaken from the catwalks by the soundwaves.

* * *

The ship's barely in the air when the entire southern face of the factory explodes outward. Inside it looks like a framed view of one of the Corellian hells, the hot one. Gregor's been worried that his plan to frame the fore-droid might fall apart if an investigator checked and found out the fire had started before the droid had short-circuited, or if enough of the wiring inside it survived for someone to find the solders. It didn't look like there was going to be a problem though. Nothing was going to survive that blaze. Gregor leans back in his seat and popped his helmet off.

"Huh, I guess all my fiddling was for nothing."

Prudii's muttering to himself as he powers up the drives and works out their nearest hyperspace egress point. He stops and looks at Gregor for a long, silent minute.

"No that was good thinking. There was no guarantee that the place was going to burn like that until you overloaded the belts."

Gregor shrugs, secretly pleased by the compliment. He's ready to sit in silence for the rest of the outbound trip. Prudii's the quietest Null Gregor's met so far but today N-5 has more to say. He keeps his eyes fixed on the panel in front of him, punching in coordinates and talks on.

"I wasn't all in on this one. I know you noticed so don't say you didn't. It could have gone really badly down there and you kept our losses to a minimum. That's good work. I...I wasn't really sure you had it in you. I mean you're different now I hear but you're still so damned wedded to your protocol sometimes. But anyway...look I've got to com Mereel back. There's something coming that I've got to do, I think. I'll tell you about it later. Can you watch the autopilot until we drop in hyperspace?"

Gregor nods, not quite sure what to say to Prudii's outburst.

"Good man. Yell if something changes."

With that he's gone, out of his seat and weaving his way back to the medbay, the only room with a door on the little ship. They haven't even broken atmosphere yet. Whatever that call is it must be damned important for Prudii to risk a transmission within planetary lane range. Gregor wants to know very badly what's got the Null so edgy but he's going to have to wait. He's gotten good at that over the past seven months and settles back in the seat, watching the green lights blink steadily on the panel display.

* * *

Five hours later, two hours after they've dropped into hyperspace the door to the medbay finally slides open. Prudii's taken off his bucket and has obviously been running his hands through his hair. It's standing up in strange looking ridges. Gregor doesn't have enough guts to point it out to him, especially given that Prudii's usual stoic expression is downright stormy at the moment. He seems almost surprised to see Gregor sitting on the bunk in the main bay cleaning his armor meticulously. Prudii actually stopps and stares at the other clone for several seconds. Gregor kept his head down, carefully cleaning the scorch off his helmet. Finally the Null stalks to his own bunk opposite Gregor's and sits.

"Hey, lay that down for a second we need to talk." Prudii snaps.

Gregor does as he's told, too interested in what's coming to be annoyed at the tone of the request. He doesn't ask Prudii any questions, letting him order his information himself. It takes a minute but Prudii eventually sighs, rubs at his hair again, making it stand up even more, and speaks.

"Look I meant what I said before about...about everything. You, this mission, you know?"

Gregor lets a little of his impatience out when he answers.

"What that I'm hidebound?"

"Yeah, also that you made a _shabla_ good call back there and saved my _shebs_."

"What's that got to do with you talking to Mereel. Have I even met Mereel?"

"I don't think so, you'd remember if you did. Even if you got yourself _mir'shupur_. That's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is that it's time you struck out on your own. I was one of the holdout votes on whether or not you were ready but I can see you are now."

"What are you going to have me doing? I haven't got transport even."

"Don't worry about that, we can take care of whatever you need. Right now what you've got to do is head in the Corporate Sector, Kir System, Kirvella. Here's a brief Mereel pulled together."

Prudii passes him his pad. Gregor finds the file and downloads it to his own.

"This is the home planet for Mer-Son Industries." He says after reading a moment, voice slightly amazed.

"You...what exactly am I doing?"

"You're going to infiltrate Mer-Son. There's something wrong in there. Seps seem to be able to counter their prototypes almost as soon as we get them. They're suddenly a lot more competitive with BlasTech. They're even supposed to be about to get the new contract for armor upgrades for the GAR."

"This doesn't sound like a military intelligence gig." Gregor says in slight disgust "Since when do we do corporate espionage?"

"Since corporations started colluding with the enemy to kill our people _mir'sheb_." Prudii snaps.

Gregor sits back.

"Okay, _undesii_, sorry. How am I supposed to be infiltrating? What am I looking for."

"You're looking for any transmission of information that seems under-handed. If someone's trying to hide communication of any kind we need you to tell us. Don't worry about who or what just tell us. We'll sort it out. As far as infiltration goes it doesn't matter how you get in, just that you get as close to the top brass as possible."

"You think this goes all the way to the leadership?"

"Yeah, possibly. Just keep an eye on them, and on the research department, and the production lines for prototypes too."

"What just me?"

Prudii rolls his eyes.

"Come on Gregor I know Jaing and Kom'rk taught you about basic sent-intel processes."

" How long term is this supposed to be?"

"As long as it takes."

Gregor's stunned. He'd been chafing a little working with Prudii, the man was prickly without any of the charm of Jaing or Kom'rk. But to be handed what sounds like an important piece of very tricky, long-term intelligence work right off the line is not what he's been anticipating. He thought after this mission he might go back to running with Jaing again or he'd work with one of the brothers he hasn't met yet.

"Are you sure about this? I mean shouldn't one of you be doing this?" He stammers.

"We're all busy. This war's ramping up again, if you haven't noticed. There's no one else to put on this. You've got experience living outside the GAR too, you'll work t out."

"I couldn't remember the GAR. I don't think that counts."

"Doesn't matter. You're what we've got and you're on deck. I'll re-route us when we drop out of the first jump. Kirvella isn't that far out of my way. Think about an identity while we're flying. A good one, it's got to last. We've got four days to Kirvella."

* * *

Action opening! Prudii! (He's my favorite Null, so grumpy yet competent!) Mystery and espionage! Whee. Yeah I'm pretty excited about this story if you couldn't tell. I'll try to get another chapter up ASAP for you. After this weekend I'm going to try to do weekly updates (Thursday/Friday again if possible). Since I am now a full time working stiff my update schedule may be compromised by developments at work. I will note if this is going to happen if possible.

Anyway...let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2, uploaded ASAP as promised. A little more set up for Kirvella and the mission. This story's a slow burner so be patient, it will pay off. I promise.

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

* * *

Five days later Prudii shakes Gregor's hand and walks away headed for the space-port and his ship. He doesn't wish Gregor luck, go over any last minute details or bother with a verbal goodbye of any kind. That's simply not how Prudii works. They'd hit Kirvella yesterday with an apartment and equipment already paid for and step up. Gregor wonders which of the Nulls is responsible for that since the landlady recognizes him and waves from her first floor unit the first time Prudii sends him to the building to check it out.

Prudii'd opted for the much more traditionally dramatic Null style of entrance; rappelling in down the back and climbing in a window. His armor barely fit in said window but the reasoning behind his decision to drag himself through it was sound. Best not to advertise that there were several identical looking men wandering around lest someone put two and two together and get clone.

Once inside Prudii'd grudgingly done a mission brief with Gregor, outlining the general plan, names of the key targets and running through the structure of Mer-Son on Kirvella at about half the speed of light. It was the sum total of what he'd said to Gregor in their four day's transit. Gregor knew better than to ask him what was on his mind, where he'd rather be than here. Had it been Kom'rk or Jaing he might have tried to tease about a hot date or something but Prudii was entirely more forbidding to say the least. His mood had only gotten worse as he and Gregor had approached the planet; clearly impatient to be elsewhere. He'd even refused Gregor's offer of a meal before he left.

Now as he watches Prudii all but sprint back toward the ship Gregor's starting to wonder whether it's really that the Null's got somewhere to go. Or if this job's going to be worse than he's been led to believe. He shakes his head. It's no good to think about that. He's got his mission parameters and a job to do. Best to focus on that and let everything else fall as it may. He turns and trudges back to his new apartment, shoulders hunched in his bulky, grey jacket against the starting drizzle.

The land-lady's huddled outside under his porch desultory tending her half dead plants and smoking a cigarette. She looks up at the sound of his boots on the cracked pavement and smiles. Gregor smiles back, hoping she doesn't expect him to remember her name. Prudii'd neglected to tell him that and Gregor, having never had a landlord who actually wanted to speak to him, hadn't thought to ask. Despite his misgivings his feet stop him in front of the door. The land lady stubs out the cigarette and reaches her hand out.

"Marla Lenko. I think my son rented you the place. I was in the hospital, bad knees. How are you liking it? Here to work at the factory?"

Gregor takes her hand. Not wholly sure which question he's supposed to answer first. Happily, Mrs. Lenko is essentially Too-Bee the waitress droid's biological counterpart. She's well able to keep her conversation going all on her own.

In short order he's heard about her youngest son, who she loves but who's a lay-about. Her daughter-in-law who should call more now that there's grandkids. As well as the general state of the building, bad, the local economy, good, and the weather, very bad for the knees. Gregor almost offers to help her oil her joints before he remembers she's not Too-Bee. He lets her follow him upstairs but remembers not to let her into the place yet.

There's still about five cubic yards of recording and tracking equipment on the floor as well as his armor in a mesh sack. Also he's got no couch or, come to think of it, bed. He's got great curtains, thick and all the way down to the floor, look like they were stolen from a theatre set or something. He's got the equipment and a mattress on the floor of the back room and that's it. Spartan is the word Prudii'd used to describe it approvingly. Suddenly an idea strikes Gregor; a recon opportunity and cover detail rolled into one.

"Say, Mrs. Lenko?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know where I could find some stuff for the apartment. I...uh..."

"You just moved here for the work right dear? I know, half the block is that way. So many places dried up because of the war but we're doing so well. It almost makes you feel guilty."

"Er..."

There's no real need for him to respond though.

"Yes, a real shame but you're here now. Oh I don't quite know where a young man would go for furniture but why don't you let me call Jarris, my youngest. He'll know just where to go. He's a bit of a…well I've told you but he's a good boy. Why don't you let me call him?"

"I'd appreciate that ma'am."

She giggles and blushes and he sees the young woman she'd been. He smiles as she wanders back to her plants talking to herself about nice young men with manners, from a good family obviously. If she only knew. He turns and unlocks the door to his new home.

* * *

It's two days before he hears from Mrs. Lenko about Jarris. In that time he's managed to do both pretty well and terribly at the same time. He hasn't realized that combination was possible until now.

He's hauled all of the bulkier recording and processing rig Prudii dumped off with him into the "office" which really seems to be a large closet across from the bathroom but it's got a door with a lock. The little stuff, the small transponders, the bead-coms, the button cameras he's tucked away in the "bedroom." He's only got two sets of clothes, one of which he's already carefully wired so there's no point in using those until he's got a reason to. He'll only use the rest of the little stuff once he's actually got a job. Until then he keeps them carefully tied up in a blue and green transper-silk scarf he'd picked up two missions back. He's going to give it to Thena when he sees her again but for now it's serving a more practical purpose.

Once he'd finished he realized how empty the place really was. He realizes it bothers him, more than he thinks it should. He's got two plates, one pot and a flat griddle thing that appears to be about as old as the building as well as an assortment of mismatched cooking utensils. He doesn't need more than two towels really and the mattress isn't bad. But the sheer amount of space on the floor gets to him, makes him jerk awake at every strange sound. It looks like a mildly advanced droid lives here. One that doesn't need to sit down at all. He wants a chair or something. Maybe a couch and a table too to stick in front of the built in vid-screen. It's not like he's planning on putting down roots but he finds wants this place to look like a human lives here.

To take his mind off the depressing lack of seating he hones his persona. He's still Gregor, nobody but the residents of Abafar know his as that so he feels safe enough using it. Better to stick close to the truth on his first time out. He picks the surname Tahy in honor of old his old sergeant Wad'e, where-ever he is. He messes with the spelling so it's nondescript, forgettable. Prudii told him he's to pose as a clever shift grunt. Someone who's reliable and smart enough to be trusted to make and test prototypes but more genial than genius. There's a couple of openings in the local proto-type test department that he's been instructed to apply to. The Nulls are convinced the leaks coming from that part of the company and want him as their fly on the wall.

He's not sure what to do about his accent so he decides to just tell everyone he grew up on Concordia, worked in the ship yards there until they shut down when the New Mandalorians declared neutrality and were cut off from legally trading with either the Republic or the Separatists. No, the Confederation of Independent Systems that's what they call themselves, he has to remember that. He's got to have no visible politics really, except that he thinks neutrality is a damned bad idea. His family died when he was a boy and he's been working ever since. Not too far off the truth, just different in some of the details.

Prudii had told him to slouch more, try to take up less space, look less like a soldier. Gregor can do that, though he struggles not to slip into his meek dish-washer persona. Even if he's trying to be non-descript he needs to be personable enough to build his network. He stops shaving, starts letting his hair grow out; doesn't slick it back as much. He rehearses everything from his back story to the way he walks over and over until, by the time Mrs. Lenko calls to see if he's free tomorrow afternoon to meet her Jarris, he's pretty confident. He agrees to come down to her place for tea the next afternoon.

* * *

Mrs. Lenko obviously wishes to be thought of, or maybe to think of herself, as the kind of woman who regularly has people to her home for tea. Unfortunately for her, as well as her guests, her main touchstone for how one has tea with guests appears to be decades old vids. Thus Gregor, Jarris; who looks just a sloppy as his mother described but is indeed a friendly young man, and Mrs. Lenko all sit down at a round table in the center of the apartment's main room. It's been laid with a delicate, flowery teapot, equally flimsy floral print cups and a tray of iced cakes and elderly looking finger sandwiches.

The tea is scalding and already sweetened. Which Gregor likes well enough though he wishes it were a bit stronger and came in bigger mugs. Mrs. Lenko obviously bought the food in anticipation of company, probably some time ago. Gregor tries a cake, rock hard now, and gives up after a moment when he can't come up with a polite way to dunk it into his tea and hold it there until it softens enough to be edible. Jarris plows stolidly through four sandwiches while Mrs. Lenko beams and tries to bustle around in a matronly way. She has some trouble there too since the room in which they're sitting was obviously hastily rearranged to fit the table and there's very little room to maneuver.

Mrs. Lenko dominates the conversation, asking inane questions about Gregor's background, how he finds Kirvella and so on with hardly a pause for him to answer. It's so bad that Gregor's starting to wonder if she wrote all of these conversational gambits down before hand and has been practicing them. He smiles ruefully into his tea cup at the thought as he's been doing much the same upstairs. Finally he and Jarris succeed in draining the teapot, which holds far more liquid than one would think looking at it. Mrs. Lenko races off to the kitchen to get more.  
Jarris leans back, sighs and pulls out a brown cigarette. He doesn't offer one to Gregor.

"Sorry about all this." He drawls, lighting up and taking a long drag.

"She's not really sure what to do with herself now that she's retired."

"She worked for Mer-Son?"

Jarris nods, pulling on the cigarette until the tobacco sparks and breathing out a dense cloud of smoke when he answers. It reminds Gregor of tough guys on holo-vids; it's probably supposed to.

"Pretty much everyone here works for Mer-Son or one of the preferred contractors. I hear it's different in the southern hemisphere but here it's all Mother."

"Mother?"

"Sorry, yeah. Mer-Son, everybody calls it Mother. Don't ask me why it started before my time."

"When did she retire?"

"Oh last year, though she works part time for Soveil, one of the contractors. She was the assistant to the Deputy Head of Research for like forty years but he died a while ago and it was time for her to go out to pasture anyway. Say are you really from Concordia?"

Gregor tries not to shift uncomfortably as he lies.

"Yeah."

"See any Mandalorians while you were there? I mean the proper ones in armor?"

If only you knew thinks Gregor. He says.

"No, those ones don't really come around to the colonies I think. Why, have you seen any?"

Jarris laughs.

"No not me. I've heard about it. One or two of the guys on the line swear blind they've seen one."

"Around here?"

"No way. Nothing ever happens around here."

He sounds disappointed. Gregor feels relieved. A quiet post for his first solo mission sounds exactly right.

"But I thought this was the research sector? That's why I came. I heard there was good work on some cutting edge stuff. I've always wanted to do that. Aren't you involved with proto-type testing?"

It's a ridiculously obvious cast for information. But Gregor's still new to this. He's never actually built a network himself and, he reasons, it's probably better for him to come off as naive than cunning right now. The gamble pays off. Jarris shakes his head.

"Force man, you sound like Hui, the floor super on my shift. He is convinced that we're doing the most important, fascinating things in the galaxy. Mostly it's testing the same five parts about a hundred times over and writing down results."

"Beats what I was doing." Gregor answers, trying to keep the conversation going.

"What was that?"

"I had to work in a diner for about a year after I left Concordia. Worst job I've ever had."

"Must have been if you want to be a test cog here. I wonder why they don't just use droids."

"Because droids are incapable of the careful reasoning that a sentient is." Mrs. Lenko answers smoothly as she glides back into the room with the freshly refilled teapot.

"Droids are also inherently untrustworthy. They can be hacked. You can't."

Jarris shrugs.

"I don't use my higher reasoning skills on the job much mother."

Mrs. Lenko is too polite to say something nasty back to her son in front of company but the reprimand's clear in her eyes. Gregor grabs a sandwich and crams it into his mouth to keep from smiling. He regrets his impulsive move a moment later when Mrs. Lenko speaks to him.

"Gregor, you were planning on joining Testing weren't you?"

Gregor nearly chokes on the stale sandwich trying to answer.

"Uh, I mean. Yes ma'am that's why I settled in this sector."

"Well why don't you wave me your CV dear. I've still got some contacts in the company. Maybe I can help you get a position."

Jarris smiles fondly at his mother.

"She got me one after all," he adds.

Mrs Lenko rolls her eyes and hands him a cake.

"Jarris I think poor Gregor's traveling light. Why don't you take him around and help him get furniture?"

"Oh no, that's not necessary ma'am." Gregor interjects.

Jarris seems like a dead-end and he doesn't need him tagging along on area recon.

"I'm sure Jarris has other responsibilities. But I wouldn't say no to a listing of places where I might find some reasonably priced goods."

Jarris looks relieved. He clearly wasn't relishing the idea of squiring around his mother's new neighbor. Mrs. Lenko frowns momentarily but eventually remembers that she's supposed to be the unflappable hostess and titters.

"Of course, of course. Jarris you can do that can't you? I 'm sure I wouldn't know where to find a stick of furniture that's not covered in chintz."

Jarris nods dutifully and Gregor tries not to smile too hard as he notes her elegant bantha hide sofa and sleekly chromed lamps rammed against the walls.

* * *

Jarris is actually more than helpful with the list of shops. He even draws an appallingly scaled map of the district and highlights where they are with bright hash marks. Gregor carefully marks them on his own Prudii-provided map of the area.

He stops in at the second hand shop nearest his new home and picks up an elderly sofa and matching chair in an indeterminate shade of spotty green mainly because they smell clean. He also purchases a folding table and chairs, flimsy but good enough to eat off of. He thinks about a bed but opts for a simple low pallet instead. It's cheaper and there's something that feels oddly permanent about a bed frame to him.

He signs off on delivery forms for all of his purchases, assuring the suspicious looking salesbeing, a very formidable Duros matron, that he will certainly be at home tomorrow between nine in the morning and three in the afternoon to take the furniture. She eyes him ferociously but eventually gives in when he offers her five percent more than the usual delivery fee.

He wanders back out into the tentative sunshine and starts to stroll. He's feeling better; barely wants to check behind him every ten feet. He plays a game with himself to keep his good mood going; trying to note down the location of likely cafes, com kiosks and refuse bins for meetings and dead drops without seeming to do so.

This sector of Kirvella's been reaping the benefits of the industrial boom, obviously. He can't recall ever seeing so many clean shops, doors flung wide, windows bright and full of a dizzying array of goods. There are cafes and restaurants and taverns and diners and cantinas all with patios out of which waft a dozen different smells of cooking some enticing, others alien.

And people. There are dozens of people. Gregor's been to Nar Shadda now, he's seen Ixos Ri and the Shadow Port. All were choked with sentient creatures of every description in every state of dress and cleanliness. He hasn't ever seen flocks like this though. Clumps of people, a few couples, some groups but mostly individuals who stroll along amongst each other but never touch or jostle. No one shoves or shouts or runs. There's no street peddlers or whores or thieves out that he can see, just clean, shiny people strolling and chatting.

Prudii'd warned him that some of these industrial sectors were like this, kept small and quaint seeming to make the workforce feel better off than they were. Still, it was another thing entirely to hear about it and then to see it for oneself. His unease creeps back in as he realizes he's out of place. There are few single males in sight. He supposes they must work during the day. These are the hours for the partners and children and the pensioners. A number of the women smile at him. He glances at his boots and feels his ears go hot. More of them smile at him after that. Some of the greeters in front of the eateries waive at him, calling out special discounts for new comers.

So that's what I look like. He thinks. It's that obvious. It doesn't matter he tells himself. In fact it was probably a good thing. New arrivals were obviously expected, given the booming plants at the edges of the sector that exhaled vapor into the air to filter the sunlight. So he'll only be a novelty for a little while and then someone else would come and be the fresh arrival. Reassured, he decides to take advantage while he can.  
He pauses in front of a ruffle curtained shop that appeared to sell nothing but painted china urns and odd water colors. The matronly woman sitting in a vast wicker chair in front of the door smiles at him.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm new in town." He rubs the back of his neck to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. "I haven't started at Testing yet and I was trying to see...that is...is there a park nearby?"

"It's a bit warm out on the street isn't it?" She asks sagely. Gregor hasn't noticed really. His body still remembers Abafar. He nods though.

"If you go down two more blocks and turn to the left there's Hiro Park at the end of the lane. You can't miss it. See those trees?" She motions vaguely behind her and to her right.

Gregor follows the sketched trajectory, see's a dark green mass rising through the soft smog. He nods.

"Yes ma'am."

"There it is. It's not as fashionable as it was but so green."

"Thank you ma'am."

He bows a little before he can stop himself. The woman winks at him. He feels his ears heat again and walks away as quickly as he can without seeming rude.

He understands what the woman meant when she said it was green. In truth the park is slightly overgrown. He suspects it's probably because the factory stacks are so close. The CO2 does great things for plants but the smell isn't exactly nice. There are probably parks on the eastside of town, away from the factories that are more populated. He thinks he saw a number of women with buggies and small children in tow heading down that way. He'll look into it later maybe, good to know where the locals go.

For now Hiro Park is just what he wants. Small, dark with the trees and creepers and backed right into the south wall of the main factory, the one very Jarris is supposed to be putting in a good word for him with the shift supervisor right now. There's even a door on the other side of a locked gate leading into the building. He pulls out his 'pad, checks around surreptitiously for anyone else in the place, cameras or maintenance droids; nothing. He pulls up Prudii's map and marks Hiro as his dead-drop.

He wanders around for half an hour longer, getting to know some of the trails, thinking about what happens since Jarris is turning out to be a dead end. His com goes off.

-Ma came through. Come in tomorrow, end of shift. Ask for Hui.  
-J

Gregor grins and suddenly feels both light and very tired. End of shift is around five so he'll still be able to meet the delivery crew before that hopefully. He needs to get his gear together and be tip top tomorrow. He needs into Testing or this mission's going to run very short.  
But that's tomorrow. Today all he wants is sleep and maybe then he'll head back out and get something to eat. He wanders home by a different route, trying to note the shops along the way. By the time he drags himself up the stairs to his flat his eyelids are actually drooping. He almost forgets to lock the door. The mattress on the floor in his dark little bedroom is heavenly.

* * *

I clearly read too many spy novels.

Next time: More build-up and a bump in the road. Also visits from some new and returning characters.

Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

More building. Gregor meets some new friends, an old one, and gets word of some unpleasant developments.

Read and Enjoy!

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

* * *

_Rule 1: Assume Nothing_

The furniture arrives at eight am, exactly. Gregor wakes up to a hammering on the front door that has him pulling his blaster from under his pillow and leaping for cover. He remembers where he is and why simply shooting through the front door is a bad call seconds later. He stashes the gun in the washroom, closing the door carefully, and answers the knocking.

The pair of Gan movers almost make him grab his gun again. He makes himself breath slowly and step back to let them in. The haul the couch in in silence, fetch the chair and the pallet. He doesn't want to let them into his bedroom but the palate's too big for him to move alone. He follows them every step of the way; watches them lift his mattress, drop the palate and dump everything on top of it. It doesn't even occur to him to be embarrassed by the messy sheets. They bring in the table and chairs and prop them in the kitchen. Gregor's relieved when they leave. He pretends not to notice the bigger one extending a hand for a shake or a tip. They stalk out muttering in barely audible voices about newly dusted-down cheapskates. He can't find it in himself to care.

He's slept for more than half a revolution, fourteen hours nearly. He hasn't eaten anything since Mrs. Lenko's finger sandwiches and his kitchen is both empty of food and full of furniture. It's time to dip a little farther into his cred fund from Prudii and get something to eat. He decides to use it as another opportunity to suss out the city and its people before he began to serious infiltration work. He steps out onto the street, waits a moment until a tight group of men in sturdy trousers and boots pass by, shift workers. He follows them.

It's a big place called the Royal Inn. He remembers something from the briefings about Krivella having a monarchy two standard Centuries ago. There's still streets with names like Duchess and Prince around the place like friendly ghosts. The Inn, which is a slightly confusing name for a restaurant as it doesn't appear to have any rooms for people to stay in, is packed. The work force, majority male and either human or near to it crams into booths four or more at a time. The counter's standing room only.

Everything is spotless, the tables are cleared in seconds by bus-droids and all of the wait staff is young, female and good-looking. There are at least three cooks that he can see back in the kitchen and the orders, enormous plates of eggs and meats are flying out.

He smiles to himself. Borkus would have murdered his own offspring for a place this packed. It's a grim thought but it keeps him feeling detached, professional even as his stomach whines at the scent of cooking oil and salt.

Since he's alone he chooses the counter, pushing politely in between two old men who are eating in silence. Each nods to him and returns to shoveling food into his mouth. Gregor wonders how he's supposed to order when a red headed human girl appears as if by magic in front of him.

"Hi there. What can I get you? Caf?"

"That'd be great. Water too?"

She smiles, slaps a menu down in front of him and vanishes. Gregor picks it up just as one of the old men finish their meals and simultaneously leave. Neither one speaks. Their places are immediately taken by a pair of men, obviously friends who are having a loud conversation about either a sports team or the disposition of the pep squad of said team.

"Pathetic. I could have run it down the field faster than that."

"But it was worth it to see them bouncing wasn't it?"

"Too much bouncing. It distracted him."

"Maybe they ought to move them to the other side of the field. Distract the other team."

"There's an idea."

They pauses the discussion as the red-headed waitress re-materializes with Gregor's drinks. She plunks down the mug. The two men pause their argument long enough to mutter drink orders to the girl. She nods absently before turning back to Gregor with a flirty smile.

"D'ya know what you want?"

"Er. What's good?"

"Everything's good." She laughs, tossing her hair as much as the tight space allows.

Gregor glances uncomfortably at his menu. Surprisingly the man to his right, the sports fan, rides to his rescue.

"Easy there Parli, you're scaring him." He's got a gravelly voice, lived in voice, Gregor notes.

The waitress grins at him and mumbles that she'll be back in a minute before shifting along the counter to take another patron's order.

"I haven't seen you on shift. You new?" asks the sports fan.

Gregor nods

"Yeah, just came in from Concordia a few days ago."

"You looking for R&D testing work?" Asks the other man. Gregor's labeled him Mr. Bounce.

"Yeah. I did some for MandalMotors. It was good."

They both nod gravely.

"Mandal was a good outfit. Not really in our league but I saw some of their stuff at a craft show once. Aggressive innovation." Says Mr. Bounce.

"That's the motto." Gregor replies, trying not to sound worried. He wasn't expecting this kind of expertise over breakfast.

"So why'd you leave?" Asks the sports fan.

Gregor shifts in his seat, trying to calm down. He can do this. He just needs to remember what it's like to be the diner hump version of himself. These men are just making conversation, everything's fine.  
"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to push man." The sports fan says raising a hand. Gregor realizes they're worried about offending him. He relaxes fractionally.

"No, it's okay. The war stopped production. I've been doing odd jobs, traveling. It's not all that great."

"I can imagine."Replies Mr. Bounce with what sounds like real sympathy.

Gregor's not sure what to say to that but the waitress, Parli, chooses that moment to scoot back to them.

"Ready now?" She asks.

"Uh, yeah. I guess. I'll have the special for today?"

Gregor has no idea what that is but he hasn't had a chance to really look at the menu.

"Great." Parli purrs. "And you two? The usual?"

"Just right babe." Answers the sports fan.  
The waitress rolls her eyes in a friendly, exasperated manner.

"Watch it old man. I'll tell Maka you're being fresh." She snaps but smiles immediately to take the sting out of the phrase.  
Mr. Bounce laughs at his friends abashed face. The sport's fan raises his hands in mock surrender and Parli turns briefly back to Gregor.

"You need a top up?" She asks.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"Right away. That, gentlemen is how you talk to a lady." Laughs Parli as she slides away to drop their orders off with the cook. The sports fan and Mr. Bounce both laugh along.

"You're good, friend," chuckles the sports fan. "I bet she'd even give you her com-code if you asked."

Gregor shrugs.

"Nah, I'm taken."

He flinches inwardly as he says it. Damn it what made him say that? But neither of the other two seem to notice his discomfort.

"Oh, ho, there's the secret Kai." Says Mr. Bounce. "You've got to act like you don't want it."

The sports fan grouses. But Mr. Bounce isn't listening he's eyeing Gregor carefully. Gregor feels his underarms start to sweat. He pretends he can't, counts silently in his head, starts listing Mado'a words he'd relearned over the past ten months. Finally Mr. Bounce speaks.

"So you're looking for work and, since you're eating here I assume the little lady is still back on the home-rock. You want to move here permanent or are you just passing through?"

Gregor takes a sip of his freshly filled caf, trying not to burn his tongue. His insticnts are telling to snap that it's none of the man's business but he's supposed to make contacts. He breathes out the tension, making the motion into blowing on his caf.

"I'll stay anywhere I can get decent work again." He says neutrally. "This place seems pretty good."

"You think your woman'd like it here?" Asks Mr. Bounce.

Gregor tries not to but he can't help thinking about Thena browsing in one of those shops, about how quiet his apartment is at the moment. He nods.

"Yeah, probably. Why do you ask?"

It's a risk. Prudii'd told him that the best way to get good intel is to try and be passive, let the mark give it away on their own, don't lead them. But Mr. Bounce is getting a little close for comfort. It seems best to throw him off a bit. Mr. Bounce smiles.

"You got me there son. I'm just nosy by nature. We don't actually have that many guys coming into this sector, not permanently. I know Jarris, he mentioned his Ma had a new neighbor from one of the Mando colonies. I heard the accent and put it together."

Gregor's underarms are sweating harder. He works to keep his face blank.

"Really?" He manages hoping he sounds natural. "With all the openings I'd have thought there'd be a lot of new guys."

The sports fan shakes his head while Mr. Bounce continues.

"Yeah but Testing's always been kind of a closed circle."

Gregor tries to ignore the panicky feeling churning in his gut. Tries to ignore the voice in his head screaming that something's gone wrong, that he's about to give himself away. He stays still, says:

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's not so great actually, in my opinion." says Mr. Bounce.

"We've been getting sloppy. You heard about the failure that cost us the initial Army contract?"

Gregor nods. He'd read about it briefly.

"Yeah well, that was the old guard screwing up. We've got some new management and now, hopefully, we'll attract some new blood on the line too."

Gregor shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Is this normal? Do civilians just hang around in diners and say things like this to one another?

"Hey I'm just looking for a job." He finally mumbles. The sports fan grins at him.

"Crent's got a big kriffing mouth don't he kid?" Mr. Bounce, Crent Gregor reminds himself, looks a bit sheepish. But then he shrugs.

"Yeah, well. Did you really do this type of work for MandalMotors?" He asks.

Gregor almost says 'that's what my file tells me.' He nods instead, drinking more caf to keep from having to speak too much. Crent grins.

"And you knew just where Testing was based. That's good thinking. We need heads like that on the line. I was a little worried when Jaris mentioned you but I think I was wrong. You're talking to Hui after shift today right, around sixteenth hour okay? I'll put in a word."

Gregor blinks, surprised at how easy this is coming his way.

"You don't have to do that. I mean I don't want special favors."

"Don't worry. You don't owe me anything. Like I said, I like the look of you."

"And he gets a bonus if you stay three months." Points out the sports fan.

Crent roars with laughter.

"Yeah, that too. My motives are selfish. Does that make it better?"

"It does actually." Gregor replies but he tries to soften the phrase by smiling. Crent grins and slaps his back.

"Good man."

Gregor doesn't know how to respond next but the efficiency of the short order cook saves him the trouble. Parli drops a heavily laden plate of fried carbohydrates and eggs. It smells salty and wonderful. Gregor glances at the sports fan and Mr. Bounce but they're absorbed in their breakfasts as well. Relieved, Gregor digs in, musing on bizarre coincidences and possible good luck.

* * *

He walks more after the factory whistle calls the occupants of the diner in for the start of the shift. Parli has, in fact, tried to slip him a com code scribbled on the back of the bill. He pretends not to notice it. Half out of general bewilderment half out of guilt. He also pretended not to notice her annoyed look when he returned the bill without taking note of the number. Clearly he'll have to dine elsewhere in future, somewhere staffed by droids maybe.

He's still tired, jump lagged and doesn't manage much more than an hour of slow strolling. He does find the second park, which is much larger, brighter and prone to be populated with friendly, curious families. He doesn't stay long. He also stumbles across a commissary, grocery he reminds himself, they're called groceries in the outside world, and buys as much shelf-stable food-stuffs as his almost exhausted cred supply allows, thinking it best to maybe eat in for a few days until he's better rested and more firmly in character. Then he goes home, sets an alarm on his com and collapses for more sleep.

He wakes up comfortably before the alarm which gives him enough time to shower properly. He again debates shaving for a few minutes. In the end he decides to trim his hair but leave the beard come in. It helps him feel more like a civilian. Despite almost losing the tip of an ear and giving himself a nasty, thin cut along the back of his neck he achieves a decent, nearly even trim. He has to wait until the cut on his neck scabs up a bit before pulling on a fresh shirt but he still makes it to the factory with ten minutes to spare.

He debates walking back around Hiro park but decides instead to sit on one of the shadier benches to wait for the shift change. The day's getting hot again and there are several people who seem to be heading in the direction of the shade offered by the park. Gregor wants to be alone for as long as possible. He wants to re-rehearse his story until it's second nature. He's still worried he'll slip up somehow. So he sits on the bench trying not to mutter out loud. He jumps very slightly when someone else sat down next to him, then tenses and makes to leave. The last thing he needed at the moment was conversation.

"You are almost bad at this. I'm worrying like I'm somebody's mother about you. I don't know what Prudii and those idiots were thinking dumping you on your own like this." Hisses a familiar voice.

Gregor barely manages to not hit the speaker. After three deep breaths he turns and stares at Jaing. He hopes in the back of his mind that any passersby will think everything is normal.

"What in all _haran_ are you doing here?" He snaps "I thought you were busy in Bakura."

Jaing gives a slightly odd smile, the skin at his eyes pulling harder than usual, like he's tired or trying to seem more cheerful than he really is.

"Finished early and then I got, almost simultaneously mind you, a message from Prudii saying he was flinging you into deep water and another from a mutual friend of ours is in a bit of a bind."

Gregor shakes his head.

"I'm fine and I don't want to know what Kom'rk has gotten himself into. I'm sure your rescue was very heroic."

Jaing frowns.

"Of course you're fine. I trained you, even if you're still re-grounding some of your wires. I wouldn't be here if you weren't anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't have seen me before I black-jacked you and pulled you out."

"So nice to have people looking out for me."

"Don't start. You know what this is."

"What are doing here then? If I'm fine that is."

"I need your help."

"I'm working."

"Not yet, but you will. That friend of the foreman's all but asked you out didn't he?"

Jaing flashes that fake grin, then seems to think better of it. The expression vanishes off his face like it was never there. Gregor tries not to be unnerved by the Null's behavior.

"I do need your help and you don't have to leave. You do have to be extra on-game though." He says at length, voice low and tight.

"Can I turn you down? Is there any other way for you to help Kom'rk? I'm not sure how much more I can manage, honestly. I'm sorry Jaing."

"Don't be _vod._ Honesty is best and I can do this without you if I have to. I just wanted you to have first refusal."

"What are you talking about? I've got an interview in eight minutes Jaing, please spit it out."

"It's not Kom'rk, it's the girls."

"The girls?"

"Your girl and her friend, our girls, whatever they are. Thena and Mi."

The heat of the day evaporates off of him. His stomach takes a sudden swan dive toward his boots and there's a black rim to his vision. Thena, gotten into some trouble she can't get out of; in over her head and he's stuck here. He forgets the mission, his cover; barely manages to keep from grabbing Jaing.

"What happened, where are they?"

"They're okay, for the moment. _Undesii_, let me talk."

Jaing looks alarmed and uncertain. Gregor can't tell if it's because of what he's about to say or if his own outburst has unnerved the other clone. He tries to care for a moment, tries to get his head back in the game, on the mission, but only partially succeeds. He concentrates on breathing and staring into the middle distance while Jaing talks.

"Mi and Thena, it seems, have run slightly afoul of a client of theirs by having the bad luck to get boarded by pirates. Decent pirates who only wanted material profit, but still. Being sensible, the girls gave their cargo up."

"They were smuggling something weren't they?"

"They claim unintentionally and I think I believe them. But at any rate the bexite ore slugs were actually concealing a valuable blend of spice. It was in there-"

"Because bexite reflects all scan frequencies. They were hollowed out, the slugs?"

"Yeah. Pretty advanced stuff. So really it's no surprise that neither one of the them, clever though they are, worked out what was going on until after. They're not exactly master criminals."

Jaing had meant the last statement as a joke. He's trying to keep things calm. Gregor know that, or at least his brain does. His brain, however, can't stop the twist of dark anger from climbing up his neck. He's not even sure who he's angry at. He breathes more, asks finally in a tight voice:

"What's happening now?"

"Well, as you can imagine their client was less than pleased."

"What did he do to them?"

"Nothing. He tried but apparently your lady friends are more dangerous than they appear. The team he sent to retrieve them are all dead or missing. Four nasty Weequays. I'll admit I'm a little impressed, did you teach them some tricks?"

"Not really. They get...creative when they're pressed."

"They do, apparently. Well as you can guess the client's gone from unpleased to murderous."

"What can I do? Can you get them somewhere else? "

The anger is making him feel hollowed out and loopy. He's seconds away from just getting up and walking away from this job. What the hell was he thinking just cutting out on Thena and Mi like that? Of course they got into trouble.

Jaing is reading him like a holo-novel. He keeps his voice normal; matter of fact but light. He's trying to help keep everything together. Gregor's grateful on some level. He honestly hadn't realized how much he needs help when it comes to balancing Thena and everything else.

"Good lad, my thoughts exactly. But it is, as usual, more complicated than that. It seems the client and his crew got a good look at Mi. She introduced herself to them at the start of the job I think, the silly creature. So hiding her is going to be a bit more difficult. Fear not, I am all over it. Unfortunately where Mi is Thena cannot go, or at least she can't stay for much longer. But I've got a solution. You're not going to like it but I'm pretty sure your girl, and you too if you keep calm, can rise to the occasion. Especially since you went and jawed off about her to your new friends. "

Gregor wonders how long Jaing's been on his tail for a second. Then his brain processes the implication of the Null's suggestion. He nearly hits the other clone. Jaing holds up his hands placatingly and forges rapidly ahead, having seen Gregor make the connection.

"It's actually almost lucky. It makes this better for you. It'll enhance your position, make you seem more stable. And we get another set of eyes on the inside."

"Thena is not working on anything for you. She's got no training. She's a civilian for _kriff's_ sake."

"You might want to talk to Thena about that. She volunteered before I even finished asking her so that makes her a partisan for our side now."

"You bastard."

"Hey it is the best I could do on short notice."

"Why can't she stay with Mi?"

"Look if you don't want-"

"I didn't say that but if Mi's safer..."

"She's probably not. I mean she's alright for now and the pissed off former client certainly can't get to her but it's kind of a precarious situation. And Mi's...less...volatile than Thena."

"_Shab_ and you think that Thena's going to be better here?"

He's arguing but it's a futile gesture. Jaing, damn him, has him cornered. There is no way Gregor's going to refuse to have Thena here within arm's reach after hearing all of that. He doesn't like it. Hates the idea that Thena's going to be in danger helping him, but she's in worse danger without him. Jaing's a force-damned master manipulator. He knows exactly how much Gregor loves his duty and exactly how much he loves Thena and now the Null's trapped him between the two. And he and his brothers are going to benefit too. Gregor doesn't know whether he wants to punch Jaing, cry or applaud.

Jaing can see him breaking. Just like he knew what Gregor was thinking before. The man's as bad as a Jedi. He slides the point home, making sure Gregor's well and truly done for.

"She'll have you around and she'll have something to do. You've got less than a minute Gregor. I'm sorry to push it like this but I can't wait around anymore. Yes or No."

"_Shabla osik_, yes, okay? Yes."

"Good. I'll tell Kom'rk. She'll be here tonight. Do you have any clothes or anything for her. Nevermind, of course you don't. She'll be here tonight."

"Jaing wh-?"

The shift bell lets out a deafening steam-shriek and the doors to the factory burst open. They have no more time. Jaing claps Gregor quickly on the shoulder.

"You're fine. We'll take care of her until tonight and then you can. Good luck at that interview _vod'ika_."

Gregor turns to say something but Jaing's vanished into a stream of workers emerging from another exit. Swallowing his newly increased trepidation Gregor stands and begins to push his way into the factory against the current of exiting men and women.

* * *

"So, Crent tells me you used to work for MandalMotors. Is that right?"

"Yes sir."

The foreman's a tall, lean, humanoid with coarse, straight black hair and bright blue eyes set into sockets that slant down sharply at the outside corner, giving him a constant squinting expression. His skin is a deep, red that Gregor thinks must have come from a lot of exposure to stellar radiation. Though the man must work mainly indoors these days as a supervisor.

He moves with quick, jerky motions that remind Gregor of a large bird, a crane maybe. He's got a practiced sort of affability that probably came from having to manage rough-edged working crews and neurotic research types at the same time on the proto-type lines. Gregor knew he shouldn't but he finds he rather liked Gen Hui.

"Easy son, no need to 'sir' me. I'm just Hui. Why'd you leave Concordia? Galaxy's getting pretty rough, seems like a big risk."

Gregor's equilibrium is shot. He can only remember the bare details of his cover story. He tries, he really does, but they're not coming. Instead he just says the first thing he can think of. Gives the bare bones in a voice that's probably more convincingly weary and worried and just plain done than anything he might have made up.

"I needed work. There was nothing left to do there and I didn't think the powers that be were going to let the system stay neutral for long."

"You didn't want to stay and fight?"

Gregor shifts uncomfortably. Then says the first thing that pops into his head. Again, there's a realistic, fatalism to the words he couldn't have likely managed had he been thinking about it.

"It wasn't my fight. I build and I test. I'll fight if I have to but not for somebody else's causes."

The foreman nods.

"Hearth and home and the being beside you eh?"

"Yes si-Mr. Hui."

"You've got a girl too Crent tells me. She from Concordia?"

"Er, I met her after, when I was doing odd jobs. We...worked together."

"Good, good. She here?"

"Ah, not yet. She's uh, coming soon, though."

"So you'll need a job to keep her eh?"

He sticks with the mostly honest tack he's started on when he answers.

"I need a job. But I don't keep her. She'll probably want to work too. She prefers to pull her weight."

"That's good, a good woman she sounds like."

Gregor shrugs, then nods.

"I tend to think so."

Hui pauses to scratch something onto the flimsi pad on his desk. Gregor watches, half bemused. Who used flimsi anymore? Hui looks up at him, smiling, eyes almost disappearing into the folds of his eyelids.

"D'you prefer morning or evening shifts?"

"Morning I think but...don't you want to know what I did on Concordia?"

"No need. We'll teach you what you don't know. Crent thought you looked solid and Marla Lenko tells me good things too and if she likes you...Well she trained me back when she was just a line stiff ages ago. So what she thinks I tend I agree with. I think you'll fit in well. The pay's four hundred creds a week plus your lodging and food stipend, which I think is about eight hundred a month. It's not the greatest but it's what I can offer. That alright with you?"

Gregor nods, a little awed at how easy this was. He clamps down on the trepidation churning in his gut as Hui grins and offers his hand. Gregor takes it and Hui shakes it vigorously as he speaks.

"Good. Welcome to Mother. There's some forms you should pick up from the personnel resources on your way out. Third door to the left, straight down the corridor from here. When's your girl coming?"

"Er, tonight."

"I'll give you an extra day then. Be here at seven-hour in two days time to start."

"Thank you sir-I mean Mr. Hui."

"Do well lad and I'll thank you. Now go on I've got another meeting behind you."

* * *

The personnel office is staffed by a single, harassed seeming Rodian. She huffs and hisses and produces a pile of flimsi for Gregor after several minutes of shifting through still more flimsi sheets in a tiny closet behind her desk. For a supposedly hi-tech organization Testing certainly seems to love its archaic filing system he think. He thanks her and was about to leave when she suddenly made a noise like an over-pressured boiler.

"Wait! Uniform! Fitting!" She squeaks.

Gregor, knowing an order when he hears one, freezes and stayed frozen as she shoots out from behind the desk with a bit of marked cord. She whips it around his shoulders and waist as he stands there, still as a statue, wondering what she's doing with the cord. Finished, she notes the something down on yet more flimisi before vanishing back into the closet. She's back two minutes later with dirt smeared over one eye and a dusty set of coveralls in her arms which she tosses to him.

"You'll need to get your own boots and protective gear. We'll reimburse you. Bring receipts." She yaps and then turns back to her ledger.

Gregor realizes, belatedly, that she had been taking his measurements, with a bit of cord. He's never heard of anyone doing anything like that before. He'd been measured for his uniform using laser grid analysis to ensure a perfect fit. On the two occasions when he's bough civilian clothes with Kom'rk they'd stepped into fitting booths to be digitally measured. What a weird, weird place this is. He half wonders if the leak doesn't have something to do with mislaid papers; nothing sinister at all, just careless trash protocols. He finds himself almost hoping it's going to be that simple.

* * *

Hurray, drive by Jaing! Also there's not going to be any Mi in this story, she's busy on adventures of her own (with pirates no less.) Maybe we'll find out what she's been up to in another story but for now she's out of the picture.

Next Chapter: Thena arrives, Gregor gets a little loopy from the pressure and the mission gets explained a bit more. Also bonus material will be posted on AO3.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

This is a long one, but then reunions often are. We're going to start getting more into the actual mission from now on, lots of cloak and/or daggering. I think it's fun. I hope you do too.

Disclaimer: See Ch1

Please read and enjoy

* * *

_The worst that can happen generally does_

Gregor all but runs back to the apartment, though the sun was still an hour or more from setting. He has no idea where Jaing is or when he meant to come back with Thena. Tonight might mean something different to the Null. But there's no Thena waiting on his stoop or cleverly deposited in his rooms. Everything was as empty and quiet as he'd left it. Empty, quiet and a mess. He hasn't yet thrown away the bags from his groceries, his clothes are strewn across the floor and everything looks, well, dingy. He's appalled that Thena might see it like this.

He carefully hunts down, bags and hauls away every fly-blown piece of plastoid, hair or fluff he can find. He washes all of his clothing by hand in the kitchen sink, since the laundry in the basement will take forever and mean he's out of the apartment for too long. He wrings them out and carefully hangs it all on a bit of cord he's stretched along the balcony. He wipes down every surface of the kitchen and the bathroom, the table and even the walls. Finally he slinks downstairs to knock on Mrs. Lenko's door to ask to borrow her cleaning unit to vacuum clean his carpet. She smiles at him oddly but lets him have it without comment.

Apartment finally clean, he showers and re-trims his hair, it seems to have grown half an inch in a day. He almost shaves but stops, razor half way to his chin, halted by a memory. It comes up, like most of his memories do now, as an echo out of a deep well inside him. Thena telling him she liked his beard a long time ago. The razor goes back in his box of toiletries next to the sink. He hopes she hasn't changed her mind.

He checks the chrono. Two hours have passed. The sun's almost set. This particular block has been gradually washed in shadows from the taller buildings making it seem darker than it really is. The sky above blazes orange and red. The long, wisps of cloud are oddly grey in the light.

They remind Gregor of the smoke that inevitably seems to congeal across battle fields at the end of a fight; heavy and stinking. He tells himself sternly that they aren't, that the sky's red from normal atmospheric refraction caused by the setting sun. There are no burning vehicles painting the heavens orange. That whiff of chemical smoke is just the foundries, which were intact, not bombed out shells. He's fine.

It's his nerves that are making him remember, playing tricks on him. He's worried about the mission and Thena. But she's coming. He'll be here. He'll keep her as safe as he could given the circumstances. This isn't a shooting war. They'll be fine. As long as he keeps it together. Still, he can't suppress the deep shudder that crawls up his spine. Disgusted with himself he yanks the blinds closed and stalks to the kitchen to make supper.

He saves some of the grass grain and canned nuna stew in case Thena's forgotten, or been too busy, to eat. It sits in the otherwise empty cooler unit all wrapped neatly in a bowl like a little totem assuring him that he hadn't imagined Jaing's visit that afternoon. One he looks at with increasing frequency as the evening becomes night and the night wears on.

He writes a briefing on the day's events. It runs less than a page but he manages to stretch the process into more than an hour. He checks his intel files for items of interest relating to Hui and Crent; nothing of comes up. He paces until he's dizzy. Then stretches out on the couch then, eyes closed, meaning to wait out the spinning in his head. It's just for a few minutes he tells himself; just until he feels better.

He snaps awake to the sound of a knock on the door. The old sofa, which upon further examination, is actually a bit too short for him to lay on groans softly as he struggles to sit up. His head had been canted backward at a strange angle and he's suddenly dizzy all over again as he raises it to look at the door. The knock comes again, harder.

He can't recall where he is and feels cold panic crash over him like an icy drought of water. He leaps to his feet despite the disorientation that makes him want to vomit. He has to be upright for some reason. If he's standing they couldn't take him; whoever they are. He turns in a staggering circle, taking in his surroundings.

Nothing is familiar. The panic gets louder. So does the knocking. Now someone's calling a name. His name? Is it real or in his head? No, no someone on the other side of the door is calling out softly, like they don't want anyone but him to hear them. He can't quite recall what his name is himself at the moment but he knows on some instinctual level that the muffled syllables he's hearing through the plaz mean him. He staggers toward the door, wanting to see who it is that knows him.

Out of unconscious habit he grabs a side arm from where it still rests on the fresher sink. He keeps it low and out of sight as he opens the door. He hold the control lever down so the door slides only a few centimeters wide. Just in case. The woman on the other side of the door is smaller than he thinks she should be for some reason. She's taking up less room; displacing too little space. He can't recall why that should be. It pulls at him urgently. He tries harder. Then the blood swirling around his confused head settles back into its proper channels and he remembers.

He remembers but he can't think of anything to say for a long minute. Her eyes are very bright in the dim light and very, very black. She looks thin, sharp edged. He can see her arm muscles twitching below the short sleeves of her shirt as she holds them tight across her abdomen; involuntary, nervous flickers of movement. He should say something. He should move. But she's frozen him to the spot somehow with her panicky eyes and body language. He forces himself to lower the gun. She hears him flick the safety back on through the crack in the door and draws her arms tighter across her middle, even as she cocks an eyebrow.

"Was it something I said?"

"What?"

The eyebrow cruises a bit higher on her pale face.

"Are you okay Gregor?"

"I was asleep. I mean," he steps back, dropping the blaster onto the folding table, "come in. I've uh...I was expecting you but then I fell asleep. Hi."

She ducks through the door and leans with her hands flat against it as soon as it slides shut.

"Hi." She whispers.

Gregor feels his throat click on a dry swallow. In the dim light of the room she looks even more wan and hard; all cheek bones and eyes and uncertainty. He swallows again, with a little more success.

"I mis-" she begins but, words having utterly failed him, Gregor decides on a much better course of action than chatting. He steps forward and kisses her.

He's timed it badly. The whole movement coming off as more of a lunge in her general direction. It seems to scare her. She squeaks strangely and draws back against the door. But he can't stop his headlong rush. He does manage to get his mouth over hers without too much clacking of teeth. A part of his brain worries for a moment that maybe he's over-reacting; that after so long apart she'd like to go a little slower, start with a hug or a handshake or something. Happily, his rational brain is just a timid pessimist because Thena, once she realizes he isn't trying to eat her face, responds by throwing her arms around his neck and pressing into him so hard she knocks his momentum askew.

She's lighter than before, a confirmation that her haggard face isn't just from the exhaustion and stress of prolonged space travel. She's also warm and clinging and smells wonderful; all metallic sweat and an elusive smoky sweetness that he's forgotten until this second. Her tongue is meltingly hot in his mouth and the ridges of her soft palate are hypnotic under his. He pulls her up against him, wanting her closer even as he stumbles backwards. He holds onto her diminished waist like it's her holding him up; tighter, closer. Thena wheezes into his mouth and slaps his ear none too gently. He startles, gripping her harder, trying to find the thing that had upset her.

"Ribs." She gasps. He blinks. She wiggles uncomfortably.

"You're crushing my ribs." She says more coherently, if still breathlessly. He blinks again and realizes that she's at his eye level, meaning she's either sprung up about a dozen centimeters in less than a minute or...He looks down. Her feet are dangling off the floor.

"Oh."

He loosens his grip a little. She slides down his body until her the toes of her boots are on the carpet. She drops her heels and takes a short step backward. He keeps his grip on her, hands resting just above her hips.

"Thanks." She says, almost normally.

He takes a few extra seconds to compose himself since her return to the ground has also had the wonderful, awful effect of dragging her against several spots on his torso and groin that are currently hypersensitive, to say the least.

"Er." He finally manages "Sorry?"

She smiles and his hypersensitive regions urge his brain to pick her back up. His brain, however, is fairly sure he's supposed to be doing something else, like talking. The impasse leaves him frozen long enough for Thena to slither out of his arms. She smooths her shoulder length hair back from her eyes and flashes her lopsided smile.

"I'm supposed to ask you if you got that job, first thing or Jaing'll hit me." She says.

"Jaing will what?"

He hadn't meant that to come out with quite such a feral, growl under the words, really. Thena's smile gets bigger. So it must be okay.

"I'm sure he was just saying that. He's not ready for you to beat him to death I'm sure. But he is very, very anxious to know about this job prospect of yours."

"Oh, uh, yes. I got it. Why?"

"No idea. He tells me less than nothing."

Gregor rolls his eyes.

"You and me both. I suppose I'll have to com him."

Thena shrugs, eyeing the room over his shoulder.

"D'you have a shower in this place? A real on, not that sonic poodoo?"

"There's a fresher past the kitchen with a real, water shower in it."

Thena's eyes go round and she immediately peels off the thin, summer jumper she's wearing. Gregor watches her do it appreciatively. He contemplates grabbing her again but opts to wait until she's out of her boots to minimize potential injury if he surprises her. She toes the ancient looking footwear off while fumbling open the fastenings on her trousers. Gregor licks his lips as the oil-stained fabric dropped into a puddle on the carpet. Thena pauses then, set a hand on her panty clad hip and looks up at him through her lashes.

"It has been a month since I had a water-shower. Want to help me celebrate our reunion?"  
"Yours and mine or yours and hot water's?"

"Either. Both. Gentleman's choice."

Gregor grins back and reaches for her. Only to have his com start to blare insistently from somewhere near the couch.

"_Haar'chak_" He hisses. Thena looks around, frowning.

"Where's it coming from?"

"Couch. I think I dropped it while I was sleeping." He answers over his shoulder as he stumbles toward sound.

Several seconds of digging and ignoring Thena's half stifled giggles later he emerges from the cushions triumphant.

"You're a super-secret commando, really?" Thena teases. "Losing your com in the couch? That's like Mi levels of paying attention."

"Well, I was tired and getting ready for unexpected guests."

"Excuses, excuses. I've got a date with your shower. Last chance, are you in or not?" Gregor almost drops the still bleating com but his training over-rides his hormones and he checks the code.

"Shab. It's Jaing."

"Pushy bastard." Thena hisses.

Gregor nods in agreement glaring at the chirping hunk of metal and plastoid in his palm. Something flies past him, smacking into the wall with a soft thump.

He looks up in time to see Thena sauntering toward the fresher, unhooking her bra. She's thrown her threadbare camisole at him. It dangles forlornly from the edge of the vid screen. She pauses in the doorway, bra unhooked, straps hanging of her shoulders. Only her arm across her breasts keeping it on. She gives him a well practiced pout and a tiny shimmy making the shoulder straps slide lower still.

"You could call him back." She stage-whispers.

Gregor silently damns his training and ingrown sense of duty as he shakes his head.  
"Later _Ten'ika_" he says sadly.

Thena huffs, lets the bra slide off completely and throws it; with the accuracy that only a woman who'd worked as a stripper could have, at his head. He ducks but the hooks catch in his hair just as he thumbs on the receiver and Jaing's holographic form appeared in his palm.

"You tell Jaing that now I get to hit him next time I see him." Yells Thena half a second before the fresher door slides shut.

Even in the low quality holo Gregor can see Jaing's amused expression as he watches his 'little brother' claw the brassiere off his head.

"Bad time _Greg'ika_?"

* * *

Raw as he is about the timing Gregor still manages to salvage some professionalism. No matter how conflicted he's feeling about Thena and her being here he can still do his _shabla_ job. The com-call takes almost an hour. Jaing actually takes the hint from Gregor's stiff demeanor and mostly refrains from ribbing him about Thena. He makes Gregor repeat back the instructions and general plan twice and agree to bi-weekly updates too.

Gregor's still deeply ambiguous about Jaing's plan for Thena, especially when he finds out the Null has neglected to fully brief Thena on the situation. She know Gregor's on an intelligence job and she knows that Jaing and Kom'rk want her to back him up. Jaing's confident that she's smart enough to figure out the rest as she goes along. Gregor agrees on that part but he's still livid that the Nulls seem to be taking her safety so lightly.

Still, he can see the logic and utility behind it. The leak could be in two places, the production line or the R&D leadership. They've narrowed it down that far, which is fortunate. But there's no more certainty than that. Having eyes and ears in both places is as close to a guarantee as they can have in this kind of work. Gregor just wishes that the second set of solo eyes weren't attached to his woman. He makes his objections known, again, and Jaing shrugs them off, again.

He signs off with an exasperated huff and drops the com into a charging dock. Thena's regrettably completed her long reintroduction to water dispensing showers. She's also apparently invited herself into his bedroom, not that Gregor minds. He checks all of the locks and security scrims in the apartment with almost unseemly haste.

Finally he shuts off the lights in the front room and tries not to run toward his bed. Thena's sprawled across the it in what she'd probably hoped was an enticing position. Given that she's only wearing one of his undershirts, one that's now damp from the shower and he hasn't seen her in months it probably would have been. Until she'd fallen asleep anyway. Now her sexy drape's more of an exhausted, boneless sprawl. Her hair's not so much artfully disheveled as hanging wildly around where her head's resting on her arms. Every so often she twitches just a little and makes a delicate, ladylike sound that she'll deny to his face is a snore. If he ever works up the nerve to tell her about it that is.

He stands in the door for a long time watching her sleep. It's been so long since they've had more than a handful of hours together. He can't remember the last time he'd been able to do this. To just be with her, alone. In fact, he reasons he may never have, given that he was essentially a different person for most of their previous relationship. It's a weird thought and he doesn't let it stay in his head too long. Instead he opts to live in the moment.

Because, as confusing and nerve wracking as this assignment is becoming he's more than a little grateful to have it right now. Silently he switches off the single lamp on the floor and crawls into bed. A few minutes of gently rearranging Thena into a more comfortable looking position and making a little room for himself ensues. She snorts once and halfheartedly throws and elbow at his chin but doesn't wake up. Instead she turns her head a little towards him and slings a leg over his hip. He feels a sharp twist of happiness at that as he settles down on the lone pillow she's relinquished. He closes his eyes and silently admonishes his hormones to calm themselves. This is, after all, supposed to be a lengthy assignment.

* * *

**Eight Hours Later:**

"How much has Jaing told you?" Gregor asks, setting a plate of poached nuna eggs and half-burned grain-board in front of Thena.

He's heard it from Jaing but now he wants to see how much she actually knows. He can't help it, he worries. She grimaces at the scorched toast but digs in. He drops his own plate in front of the other chair and sits.

"Possibly a lot. He did that nervous thing where about half the things he said were abbreviations or code words."

Gregor snorts around his toast.

"Jaing is never nervous." He says, with great seriousness.

Thena cocks and eyebrow at him over the rim of her tea cup. He fights a smile.

"I'm sure he thinks so too." She murmurs.

She's avoiding the question. He can see it. He presses her.

"Well, what did he say? Can you remember it?"

Thena swallows another bite of eggs, sets her toast down carefully on the edge of her plate and closes her eyes. Gregor wonders what she's doing. Then she tips her face back and begins to speak in a flat, high pitched voice, like a child reciting a lesson.

"We've assessed a potential threat to arms control associated with Mer-Son, don't know what or where. We've got Gregor running a SAPINT operation, solo for now but we've got data on another potential line of information that just opened up. We've got other assets we can put on the board but you've got a previous relationship with our man in there that could be beneficial, to his cover if nothing else. Don't worry it isn't special recon or false-flag or anything, just standard technique. Gregor'll fill in the rest."  
She opens her eyes, lowers her head and looks at him.

"Now I left school when I was thirteen Gregor but I think he meant that we're spying on Mer-Son. Is that right?" She says, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

Gregor feels her tone like a knee to the gut but keeps his face and voice calm.

"It is. But you can't call it spying. And probably don't use Jaing's name outside of this apartment either."

She nods. He shovels the last of his breakfast into his mouth and stands, stretching to give himself a moment to think.

"Did he mention what he wants you to do specifically?" She shakes her head, avoiding his eyes again by mopping at the end of her eggs with a nub of toast.

"Have you got any experience working in a corporate office?" Another head shake.

"Damn. Look you don't have to do this."

"What is this Gregor? Try telling me before you decide I can't. I promise to shut-up and listen."

He rubs the back of his skull and sighs.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Okay. The Nulls and some other branches of MILINT, military intelligence, have had Mer-Son under surveillance for awhile. A number of the new Geonosian weapons have been showing a pretty marked ability to counter Mer-Son tech in very specific ways. It's like the bugs know exactly where the weak spots are and how to exploit them. Like they've got plans or possibly proto-types to work off of."

"So they think Mer-Son is giving weapons to the Federation, I mean the Separatists?"

"Weapons and armor designs, possibly. Or there may be a Sep agent somewhere in the production line that's handing off the plans once the project is deemed workable."

"So the Separatists may be receiving stolen plans from somewhere in the early development part of weapons and armor production. But we don't know that for sure. And we don't know how or where. There sure are a lot of blank spaces in your story." Thena grouses.

"Welcome to the wonderful universe of intelligence_ Ten'ika_."

"So, still, what might I be doing?"

"Well there's two main possibilities that the Nulls want checked out. One is on the production line, looking for saboteurs, malcontents and the like. The other, is in the head office for the Development Group. That's the two areas where the plans for weapons are most out in the open so it follows that that's where the lead maybe. The best way to confirm that something is going on is Sentient eyes on the ground. Thus SAPINT, sapient intelligence."

"Okay. But which one is it? Which one is more likely, the production line or the office."

"There's no way to know yet."

"Oh."

He feels his gut churn again with the familiar fear. It's intensified now that it's not just himself he's worrying about. He doesn't want her in this, doesn't want her paranoid and afraid constantly. Not again. But she should know everything first. She should understand what's happening since Jaing's made very clear that, whether or not she cooperates, she's here on Kirvella with him for the duration.

"I'm going to be on the production line but they want someone in the Head office to observe the senior staff, the Senior Chairman and his Deputy Department Head."

" Which is why you wanted to know about the office experience."

"We can get a cleaning droid in there to toss flimsi and set up surveillance for the rest. You don't have to do it."

He tries to reassure her; take the pressure off.

"And what do I do then? If I don't go to this office?"

"Whatever you want."

"So I'm your house wife? Or I go back to waitressing?"

"Thena the ability to blend in, be totally mundane and normal in your task is absolutely everything here. You've got to.-"

"Keep cool in front of people who'll kill me if they find out what I'm up to? Lie to someone I like, more than like maybe, despite what I feel? Use everyone, including supposed friends, without any remorse to get what I need? Cut and run the second I have what I want regardless of the wreckage I'll leave behind me? Is that about right? I think you know I can do that pretty good."

"Then-"

"I could guess what was coming by what Jaing told me. I volunteered for it. Did he mention that? I chose this because I want to. I want to help because it's patriotic and stupid and exciting and if I'm going to get shot for kriffing something up I'd really rather be with you than Mi, much as I love her."

"Thena this isn't Abafar. If these guys are really in bed with the Separatists...I haven't seen as much as the Nulls but if you, if _we kriff_ this up, what happens to us is very likely going to be worse than getting shot."

Thena looks at him levelly.

"I know some things about getting worse than shot too."

"Can you pass yourself off as a competent desk grunt Thena?" He asks.

It's cruel of him, a low trick reminding her of her deficit in training but he needs her to take this seriously. Her face flushes with anger.

"I was under the impression that Jaing and Kom'rk were going to take care of getting me hired. Do some sort of magical commando string pulling or something."

"Fine. But what about the day to day? Writing reports, filing-"

"I am actually literate, thank you. And I'll figure it out. I know it's going to be a bit more intellectually challenging than taking off my clothes Gregor. Why don't you have a little confidence in me?"

"I don't doubt your nerve or your brain Thena. It's the rest of it, the training you haven't got."

"So train me." She says baldly.

And there it is. The solution. The one he doesn't want to acknowledge. Because what if he does it wrong? What is he forgets to teach her something that could save her life? It's not really her screwing up that scares him; it's him.

"I've never trained anybody. I've only...this is my first solo assignment."

She nods sadly. Of course she understands. Thena's always been good at reading people, reading him in particular. She gets up and stands in front of him; takes his right hand in both of hers and kisses his knuckles.

"Please, Gregor. Please."

Him and Thena and 'please.' It's all over. He wonders if she knows how much he can't say no to her 'please.' She probably does. It should make him angry, being manipulated again, having his choices taken away but he doesn't feel it. If Thena's manipulating him it's because she wants to be here with him, because she wants to help the cause, the war effort, whatever.

He's still scared of messing up but maybe this is part of learning to work on his own; learning to trust his allies. He's still chilled and his gut won't stop aching but now there's something else, way down deep. It's a warm, slick kind of happiness because his girl's here, because she wants to do this with him, because maybe he doesn't have to keep the two sides of himself separate. Maybe it will be easier with her here. He can be Thena's Gregor and CC-5576-39 at once. If he can do that then he only has to worry about the mission. If he, if they, can just make it work.

He sighs. Rubs the back of his skull and nods. Thena grins. The warmth flows up and through him. It's almost enough to fight off the blank dread that's taken up residence at the bottom of his gut.

* * *

They go shopping after breakfast. Jaing's given Thena a tidy pile of credits since she left most of her's back with Mi. She still won't tell him much about where the Mirialan is but she reassures him over and over that Mi's safe, that Kom'rk and Jaing are making sure of that. He can tell how much she wants to believe that so he doesn't push.  
They go to the shop his employee resources flimsi indicated has the contract to provide approved production and safety gear. He picks up a second pair of boots for himself and a couple of safety suits with the Mer-Son logo on them he'll need for work. She gets new trousers, shirts, and boots since hers are clearly on their last legs, and pays for everything. Insisting it's only fair since he cooked. She changes into the clean new clothing in the back of the shop. Then it's time to get Thena properly kitted out for her mission.

He follows her into the lady's clothing shops and offers his opinions. This is all part of the training, establishing cover. By Thena's own admission she has no clue what appropriate work-wear looks like. He thought she was exaggerating at first but then he notices she tends to gravitate to skirts that are a little too short and blouses a little too tight. He grits his teeth and tries to diplomatically point out to her that, while her selections are certainly appealing they draw a bit too much attention. Thena listens, nods sagely and says, with perfect equanimity, like she's discussing ship vectors:

"Right, because I'm not reliant on tips anymore. Less T and A. Got it."

He supposes he should be feeling good that she's taking this seriously. But he still wishes she weren't quite so blunt about it. Between him and the clerks though they assemble a pile of conservative, knee length skirts and about seven blouses.

The clerks are taken aback at first by how much he seems to be participating in the shopping. He realizes he's supposed to act more disinterested when one of the clerks asks if he wouldn't rather sit down, motioning to a group of chairs tucked out of the way by the door. There's another male sitting in one impatiently scanning something on a pad. Gregor considers it, worrying that maybe he's breaking out of his cover, being unusual and memorable but he can't help it right now. Thena needs him.

He declines the chair. The clerk gives him a sly look, turns and whispers conspiratorially to Thena about where she got such a good one. Gregor's muscles unclench as the other two shop assistants shoot him indulgent smiles.

The entire pile of clothes is about a tenth as heavy as one of his coveralls and costs ten times as much. He tries not to look alarmed when Thena hands over an enormous chunk of Jaing's specie. He hopes he gets paid soon. He also hopes the office payroll department takes into account the ridiculous amount of money required to buy proper clothing once Thena actually starts working.

He's satisfied with the haul and ready to head back to the apartment. They've got a lot to go over. But Thena's not done. She drags him to a cosmetics shop. She needs to totally look the part she tells him. She's been looking at the other ladies in the shop, both the staff and the other customers, and she's realized she needs to change her makeup routine.

Here he manages to act like a proper male companion and lurk uncomfortably near the door this time around. It's easy to do since he can't tell one type of powder from another. Once Thena buys a small, still staggeringly expensive, array of paints and stains for her face she marches across the street to a shop advertising female undergarments.

He declines to go into this one with her, even though she reassures him the staff don't actually demonstrate the wares as he was worried they did. He still thinks it's going to look odd for him to go in. She sighs but then grins wickedly and tells him its probably better this way. She can surprise him with her purchases afterward. He likes that idea and tries not to spend the next half hour grinning like a moron at nothing thinking about it.

Shopping finally finished they buy some more food and walk slowly back to the apartment. It's all very strange and domestic. Gregor thinks about whether or not he likes this but can't decide. He walks along, carrying his and Thena's bags and tries to look like he does. He probably manages to seem bored but that's just as good. He sees Mrs. Lenko peering out through the curtains and raises a hand. She drops the lace and steps backwards. He frowns, she's never been unfriendly yet but there's no time to think about it. He has to negotiate the stairs and the keypad and the bags.

Thena puts everything away in the battered, built in clothes press while he assembles all of the gadgets he thinks might come in handy on the table. By the time She's done and back out it's hard to see the surface of the table amid the bits of plastoid and metal. She cocks and eyebrow as she sits but stays silent, letting him explain.

"You're probably not going to use most of this but you should know what it all does I think." He starts.

"Once you get into the office I'll have to get in and bug it so you may see this stuff and-" He trails off as she watches him impassively.

_Shab_, he's nervous. He's rambling. He's not focused.

"You know what, never mind. You don't need to know how all this _kebise_ works."

"Kebeesay?" She parrots dubiously.

He flinches.

"It means stuff, sorry. It's _Mando'a_."

"What do I need to know Gregor? And don't say Mandalorian. I've barely managed basic and Huttese."  
Gregor smiles. She does too. He appreciates her ability to make him feel better, calmer. He takes a couple of breathes and starts over.

"We're strictly data gathering. We don't process and we don't move on anyone unless there's no other option. We can build a network if we have to but we're still so early in the game that it might be more of a burden than anything else."

"What are you looking for then?"

"Proof."

"That Mer-Son, or somebody in Mer-Son is a Seperatist?"

"Or working with them. Yeah, that's it."

"But you don't know that already?"

"Prudii suspects. But no, we don't know. Which means two things. Either there's nothing and we're wasting our time or this network is very good and very entrenched."

"How do you mean?"

"You've met Jaing and Kom'rk. Well they're the cutesy double act of the Nulls. They fly by the seat of their pants and let people get away with all kinds of duse, err, garbage. Prudii though, he's serious, professional and his brother Ordo, he's very serious and very professional. They can get data on almost anything. They can trace, infiltrate, whatever they need. None of them can tell one way or another what is going on when it comes to Mer-Son. We know the seps seem to have a lot of information on Mer-Son products but that's it."

"What happens to Mer-Son if they are cooperating or collaborating or whatever?"

Gregor nods. It's a smart question. She's thinking about this. That's good.

"If it's all of Mer-Son either they pull out; publicly declare for the seps, or, more likely the GAR comes in here and changes the heads of the departments."

"That means they kill them right? The collaborators. The army comes in here and kills them."

Gregor really wishes she weren't so clever or so blunt. It's not that he doesn't realize what's at stake here it's just that it's easier not to think about it while he's in the field. He doesn't lie to her though. She wants this straight, so he gives it to her.

"Yeah. The Republic can't let an asset like Mer-Son just go."

"What if it's just one person, or a few people? They vanish one day, have mysterious accidents?"  
Gregor shrugs.  
"Maybe, if they aren't useful. It'd be better if they could be turned. That way we could get accurate intel on other operations like this one."

Thena looks flushed and is playing with one of the bead coms; rolling it from palm to palm absently.

"You can still say no _Ten'ika_." He allows gently. She stares at the com in her hands, blinking slowly then looks up at him.

"But we don't do any of that. You said."

He feels like someone simultaneously lifted a huge weight of his chest and doused his gut in sub-zero coolant. He smiles at her.

"No _cyar'ika_, not us."

He can see her compartmentalizing the nasty truth of this job. Filing things away in her head so she doesn't have to think about the immediate consequences. It's the smartest way to do this kind of work. He's glad she reached that conclusion on her own. It will make things easier in the long run.

"Okay," she says after a moment, voice just a little too light "so how do I go about being a spy?"

He tells her about dead drops and live ones, though he doubts that anyone's actually handing off information to another sentient directly. If they were the Nulls would probably have found out about it. Live drops tend to require well trained and therefore known people to be involved.

He tells her about the single use pads in case she needs to relay information to him and can't do it face to face for some reason. She likes those, loves the cloak and dagger nature of the decoder flimsis he teaches her how to read. He gives her a rundown of the types of things they're looking for, meetings at odd times, sudden, unexplained behavior, obvious signs of paranoia and stress, not wanting to go anywhere alone or always going places alone.

"But won't they be over that kind of stuff if they've been spying for awhile?" She asks. It's another smart question and he feels irrationally proud of her; as though he had something to do with her cleverness.

"They're not professionals, not the people we'd find probably. They're just ordinary beings who wanted more money or believe in a cause. They're just pawns."

"Like us." She says in an oddly cheery voice. He narrows his eyes, trying to suss of whether or not she's joking. Her face is Ocsinin blank.

"You're not a pawn and we're professionals." He corrects, gently.

"Of course we are."

He glares at her. She holds up her hands.

"I'm sorry, keep going. I won't argue."

"And because we're professionals, no matter what you may think, we've got tricks they don't."

"Like what?"

"Like the Nulls are going to start subtly passing around that the Republic is on to the fact that something may not be right here in the Corporate Sector."

"But doesn't that make our job harder?"

She's frowning a little. The afternoon sun's seeping in through the translucent blinds over the kitchen window; catching in her hair, making it seem almost blue in certain places. Her lips are dark. She's been biting them on and off throughout the conversation, and now they're slightly swollen. He realizes they don't have to be anywhere until the day after tomorrow; his first day of work and the interview the Nulls somehow got scheduled for her. They've got lots of time to go over everything. He smiles at her. She frowns a little harder.

"Maybe. But remember rule number eleven." He tries to keep his voice serious but he can't stop the smile from slowly spreading across his face.

"There are rules?"

"Rule number eleven, build opportunity when you can."

"What's rule number one?"

"Assume nothing."

"How many rules are there?"

"Seventeen, give or take."

"Do I have to know all those? On top of the book bit and the drops?"

"Oh yes, all of them. There's tests. Whenever you meet up with a sympathetic agent you have to recite them all. Whoever does it fastest wins."

It takes her a second to get the joke. That second twists his chilly gut up badly. He suddenly feels awful for losing his focuses, because she's taking all of this so seriously. She's relying on him to tell her what to do and how to stay alive. Totally and completely relying on him and he's letting himself get distracted by her hair and her mouth. But then she grins and swats at his head.

"Sleem-" She starts.

He snatches her hand and pulls her out of her chair. A little negotiation around the edge of the table and she ends up in his lap. He grins at her, then makes a mock solemn face.

"I'm only trying to help. Rule number one, assume nothing. Rule number two, plan for the worst that can happen. Rule number thr-"

She slaps his ear and then kisses him to show she's only joking. He kisses her back. He tries to keep it light but it's been months and, unlike certain Nulls, he doesn't believe in having a female or two in every starport. He's got Thena and even if her ass isn't quite as soft and full as he remembers she's here now and there'll be some time for him to feed her up. There'll be time for a lot of things a bit later, like the important rules about trusting your gut and maintaining cover. But not right now. Right now he wants to see what it's like to have Thena in a real mattress that doesn't fold into the wall. One that's big enough for both of them to lay side by side on after.

* * *

Okay so it was really at least half fluff and half trade-craft/plot. I'm modifying actual spy-novel terminology as we go along so SAPINT=HUMINT etc. The 'rule' are also not mine. They're from a James Bond novel I believe but I've heard of them elsewhere too so I'm not 100% on the sourcing. (They're sometimes called The Moscow Rules for added drama). For those that are curious they'll be appearing as chapter headings so you can keep a list of all seventeen.

Additionally, poor Gregor and his professionalism. It's okay he gets a bonus chapter on AO3 (see the link in my profile).

Next Time: It's off to work we go and just what are the Nulls up to anyway?

Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

This is a Thena focused chapter. I realize I've actually done very little from her POV before so it's a bit of a change. She's going to be about 40% of this story so my thought was that I'd better get used to being in her head some. It's interesting to see Gregor from the outside as well. (And by that I mean I'm using this as a bit of an excuse to ogle him in prose, because I'm shallow.)

Anyway...

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

Please read and enjoy

* * *

Thena wakes up nervous edging into afraid. She's worried about too many things, the interview today first, even if the Nulls have somehow rigged it in her favor but there's a whole host of other nebulous threats crouching at the edges of her consciousness, scratching to get in; keeping her awake. She puts on a brave face whenever Gregor brings up her sleeplessness. So long as he doesn't ask her too many questions about it she can even keep that face convincing. And if he does, she'll counter with a question about what he calls 'tradecraft.' All those rules about information drops and codes and not trusting your own shadow just swallow time up. And if he's not fooled by her sudden interest in electronic bugs then she just climbs on top of him and starts undressing. It's been almost a year, Coruscant sidereal, since they were together so it's not exactly difficult to entice him.

She knows he's nervous too but she really can't deal with that at the moment. She needs Gregor to be either Mr. Super Spy or Mr. Naked and Incoherently Post-coital right now. If he starts worrying it only makes her worse. It'll be better once she's actually on the job she's sure. Once she's working she'll have something else to focus on and then she and Gregor can start having conversations and stuff.

That's probably a good thing, she allows, grudgingly. But all that conversation and work is going to inevitably cut into their time-for-fucking allowance. Gregor's not the only one who's been doing without after all and Thena's been finding distracting him almost too much fun.

All good things, she muses, are forced to be enjoyed in moderation by the unending pressure of the universe. She's not bitter about that, really she's not. It's a Force-sent blessing to be away from those pirates that stared at her like she was a piece of meat. Mi had skills they valued but, as nearly half of them were already passable pilots, she was only worth as much entertainment as she was willing to provide. And she wasn't willing to provide any. It was damned lucky that Kom'rk had swooped in and pulled her out when he did because she was going to vape one of those sons of groxes the next time they grabbed her ass and once she did that; well...Better not to think about it.

So instead of being a grisly trophy hung on the wall of some pirate-lords seedy 'palace' she's getting to play house with Gregor. There's also a distinct possibility of one or both of them getting shot too but, she muses with a grimace, that's almost normal for them. She doesn't let herself dwell on it. Instead, she sits up on the bed, the real, honest-to-Force bed, and watches the early morning sunlight creep through the window and scale the mattress a centimeter at a time. The bedroom window faces south so it catches the entirety of Kirvella's dawn.

Thena's haunted brain is pushing her into new realms of thought; of self reflection actually. Because as she and Gregor are building her new persona she's having to become aware of her mannerisms, her motivations. She's cataloging her personality in ways that she never has before and thinking hard about why and how she works. It's strange and uncomfortable and dredges dark depths of her psyche she's been ignoring for a long time.

Thena Kuora, or Thena Tahy as she's going by at the moment, doesn't think of herself as a particularly deep person. She's all appetites, for food or sex or a fast ship riding a deep-space radiation current. She's more immediate than anything else. Sure, she can plan her way out of a bad situation but said plan is more of a series of reactions to events piled one on top of the other until they're tall enough for her to climb out on.

Being mixed taught her that; to react rather than plan and live in the moment because what's coming around the unseen bend it probably not good. The kids she grew up with were mostly pure-blooded as; not all Ocsinin but full human, or Zeltron or whatever. They loved to tease the half-breed, lie in wait and ambush her. So Thena got real good at reading the signs of an impending attack in their eyes, the line of their mouths, their fingers and dodging before they moved. She also got pretty good at not waiving her counter attacks to them either; going from calm-seeming to either violence or flight with hardly any warning. But she still sweats when she gets too emotional, even if she can't cry. She still flushes up with whatever feeling is tearing at her. She's never been able to hide that even as she learned to roll with the punches. Her Ocsinin Ma, her full-blooded Ocsinin Ma, always shook her head whenever Thena got worked up. Her face would be perfectly, beautifully blank as she watched her child disappoint her again and again.

And Thena knows she was a disappointment to both her parents, a symbol of failure to her mother and a burden to her father. She knew she was never going to be good enough the day her Pa didn't bother coming home when she was eight and her Ma refused to feed her for two days because of it. So she gave up trying and just lived for herself, right in the moment again. It got her into mess after mess but that was usually okay with her. When she was in trouble she at least knew she existed.

Truth was though, she'd been cruising hard for self-destruction back then. Charise had clearly been bad news from the start but Thena let herself be blind to it until she was marooned on that salt-plain hell hole; indentured to the Borkus. That had been the absolute bottom. She'd thought a lot about just provoking some rough-neck badly enough to get herself shot. Then Mi Syung took an interest in her, for reasons Thena still doesn't understand; though she's grateful. Mi was the first actual friend Thena'd ever had. She calmed her down, propped her up a bit and gave her the grounding to actually think a bit ahead for once. Mi walked up to Thena and forced her to start paying attention; she inserted herself into Thena's life and stayed there. And then came Gregor.

Beside her Gregor grunts and kicks at the sheets tangled around his feet. Tired of the sunlight, she decides to watch him for awhile while she broods, maybe it will improve her mood. Gregor's the weirdest, best thing that's happened to her so far; except maybe for finding _Simli_ in a scrap heap on Abafar. In a way the ship and the man started out as kind of the same, a ticket into another, bigger world. Then came the weird part; the part where each got under her skin in a way she wasn't expecting; burrowed in so deep she couldn't pull them out again.

She loves Mi like an annoying but ultimately good sibling but _Smili _she loves like she loves her own hands. When she had to leave the ship behind, squatting out on the endless savannahs of the pirates' home world, it _hurt_. She'd lay inconsolably in a bunk on Kom'rk's ship for almost a day. She'd finally snapped out of it because Kom'rk reminded her she was going to see Gregor. And Gregor she...well she didn't have a way to describe what she felt for Gregor. If she loves Mi like a sister and _Simili _like an organ her feelings for Gregor are developing into something akin to the way she felt when she races a comet tail or skips along an asteroid wake; like there's nothing else to want in the universe. Like maybe something is perfect, just one thing is absolutely flawless in her life.

She scoots up the mattress until she's properly upright, back pressed into the wall, legs out in front of her. The sunlight's made it all the way up the side of the mattress and is starting to climb Gregor as well. She doesn't blame it. It's still a little surprising to her that he's so handsome and patient and intelligent; and that he wants to spend time with the mess that is her.

She's never going to get used to the contrast in him; the man of, well, of violent action and the quiet, careful thinker. He just switches between them so effortlessly. She knows it's supposed to be because he was bio-engineered to do that. According to Kom'rk all clones can. But Gregor's different from Kom'rk and Jaing.

She's never met any other clones but she's willing to bet he's different from them too. Jaing and Kom'rk do the danger-man stuff because they like it, because their violence has no mind to it, no thought while it's happening. She can see that because that's how she's tried to be for so long. They plan and they fight and they pull out that rapier wit on whomever is nearby at a moment's notice so she knows they're intelligent but they don't _think_. Not like Gregor thinks.

Maybe it's because he was out of his head for so long that now he really likes spending time in it. Whenever she says something to him, or does something; up to and including stripping down in front of him, she can see him weighing his potential decisions. He does it so fast she guesses most people don't realize he's doing it. But if there's one thing Thena's invariably good at it's reading people so she realizes what's going on behind Gregor's eyes in those minute pauses.

Everything he does he thinks through. He probably back analyzes what he's already done too. She was surprised recently when she realized that that turned her on. More so even than the eight point three meters of hard-used muscle and warm caramel colored skin. Which means she loves his brain a whole _kriffing_ lot, considering its competition. She's so into the way Gregor thinks she realizes, that she's started to push herself to think more like him.

Thus why she's up uncharacteristically early, worrying. She wants to get this right, to prove that she's smart and able; not just clever and quick on her feet. She's feeling pressure, not so much about getting caught. Between Gregor and the Nulls she thinks that they have a pretty high chance of getting away in a hurry if they have to. No Thena, for probably the first time in her life, is worried she's going to let someone down; let Gregor down specifically. She knows he doesn't see it that way. There's probably not a whole lot she could do to make Gregor disappointed unless she's actively trying to. And that's kind of the problem.

He's worried about her messing up because he doesn't want her to get hurt. He probably doesn't care all that much about whether or not she does a good job. He's told her already that if she just narrates for him what she sees everyday then he'll be satisfied. She doesn't have to bug or monitor or steal flimsi if she doesn't want to. He means that too. Gregor won't push her to do more than she thinks she's able to. He doesn't expect her to be good at this. He doesn't put any pressure on her so she puts twice as much on herself.

Gregor grunts again. The sun's up high and the light's all the way to his lower ribcage. He shifts restlessly until his nose bumps against her hip. She jumps a little when he breathes out; warm air from his lungs tickling her skin. He snuggles closer. He'll get an arm free in a minute and wrap it around her. He likes to do that; keep her secured to him while he's asleep. It's sweet, especially since Kirvella's transitioning to its autumnal season and it's getting chilly. But she doesn't let him do that this morning. If he pulls her down she may not be able to resist waking him up for early morning sex and they're on a schedule.

Thena slides her legs out from under the sheets and gets up, careful to avoid jostling the mattress too much. She pushes one of her pillows near Gregor's face to give him something to cuddle for a few more minutes. He'll catch on eventually and wake up and be sad probably. But she intends to assuage him with freshly made caf and maybe even toast if she's feeling ambitious.

* * *

He is sad when he regains consciousness ten minutes later. But she soothes him with caf and a kiss to wipe the pouty, hang-dog expression off his face and the first shower. Her interview isn't until ninth-hour so she walks him to the factory. She even kisses him goodbye in front of everybody and hears somebody hoot. Gregor's head comes up quick but he must know whoever it was yelling because he gives his not-happy-but-not-really-angry frown.

"I'm off at half fourth." He says quietly, rubbing the small of her back distractingly. She nods. And then remembers how to speak a second later.

"I'll meet you out here."

"Good." He grins and raises an eyebrow. "We can go for a walk in the park afterward."

"Professionally or for amusement?"

"First one, then maybe the other." She kisses his cheek one more time and swats at his head.

"Go to work, stud."

He grins at her for half a second longer and then turns and lopes into the factory.

She walks back to the apartment and doesn't even check the street signs on the way. That's something she learned early, don't look lost even if you are, it attracts attention. She has a feeling the old Nar Shadda, quick footed, siege mentality might come in handy on this job. Just remember not to make it look like a siege mentality she sternly reminds herself as she waits for the water in the shower to heat up.

She doesn't quite recognize her reflection when she's done with the hair, clothes and makeup. She looks younger and older at the same time. Her hair's pinned up smoothly and her skin looks more human than Ocsinin, cheeks quietly pinked along with her lips. She's picked out a grey skirt and cream colored blouse with little lace cutouts at the collar and down the sleeves. There's a matching, short jacket and a complementary pair of low, sensible black shoes as well. The only women she ever saw dress like this were her aunts, who taught at a fancy boarding school in the upper spires. Is this what a corporate office girl looks like? She hopes so because it's too late to change.

She can't walk to HQ, as Gregor calls it. She has to take an Airbus. She's never been in one so new and so empty. It's kind of weird to see people not clutching their handbags close; leaving them unattended on open seats beside them and the like. She's fascinated by a young mother who's so preoccupied with her baby that she actually chases the kid up the aisle, abandoning her purse for several minutes. By the time Thena realizes she's distracted too the bus is a stop past where she meant to get off.

She's still three minutes early when she reaches the Nhantey Tower, home to Mer-Son R&D corporate offices. She gives herself a minute to catch her breath and surreptitiously fan her sweaty face dry. She'd run from the other stop. Two minutes to go and she marches inside, stops at the front desk, as instructed, and tells the security guard firmly where and by whom she's expected. She might have done it a little too firmly because the security guard cocks an eyeridge at her for a long moment before picking up his hand-com and waiving upstairs. After a moment he nods to her and motions to the bank of turbolifts.

"Floor seventy-two. And don't forget to breath, honey."

She almost glares at him and then notices the gentle, paternal smile that's playing at his mouth. Right, not Nar Shadda, or Abafar. Calm down, calm all the way down. She smiles back. It's a little shaky but he probably reads that as interview nerves, which is kind of true.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

* * *

The interview is going badly, really, amazingly badly. It is, in fact, not even an interview. It's a cattle call of human females between twenty and thirty standard years. They are all dressed in shades of what Thena's wearing though her outfit is among the plainest by a fair margin. The women are lined up in front of a reception cubicle, handed a pad by a reception droid and instructed to fill out and submit the forms saved on it. Thena manages that fine; remembers all the correct details and everything. Then they wait.

By fours and fives they're called into a room behind reception and, to Thena's horror when it is finally her turn, they are sat in front of a monitor with a type-pad and administered a series of "skills" tests. Thena can type, sort of, with like two fingers at a time. The other girls she notices use all ten. Then come the tests on standard office software and protocol. The questions seem to be written in a language only tangentially related to Basic. It takes her longer than everyone else in the room to finish and even then she has to give up on a couple of sections in despair.

Some of the other women are talking in little clumps when she finally exits back into the reception area; little clumps that go silent when she walks by. It's like being nine all over again. Thena almost keeps walking right to the lifts.

But Force-be-damned she is not about to let a bunch of giggling, up-spires scare her off. She has a ship of her own. She's faced down pirates and mercenaries and even one or two gangsters. I've got a body count too Thena reminds herself with an inward curl of sick pride. So _fek_ these _schutta_ with their flashy jewelry and ability to collate files. Kom'rk told me this thing was in the bag so all I have to do is hang on she reasons with herself.

She sails to a chair near the knot of women and picks up a holo-mag, pretending the other females aren't even there. They shift uncomfortably for a minute or two and then disperse, leaving Thena the field. Time drags on. Gradually they're each called back in ones and twos. Thena notices that the pairs always seem to emerge from the back faster. They also head straight for the lifts. They must be the guaranteed rejects. Only half of the single call-backs reappear So long as she goes in alone then she's safe.

" Tahy, Thena and Venari, Yveea " croaks the droid.

_Kriff. Kriff_! this was not part of the plan. Thena gets up, feeling sick to her stomach and wobbly legged. Yveea Venari doesn't look so great either. She's clearly come to the same conclusion about the pairs versus single girls. They teeter into the back, through the room they tested in and into a tastefully decorated, soothingly lit hallway. There are two human males waiting. The taller, younger one eyes Thena with open disdain before pointing imperiously at Venari and motioning her to follow him.

Thena breathes out. That leaves her with the kinder looking one. He smiles at her and she can't help but smile back.

"Ms..." He glances at the pad in his hand, "my apologies, Mrs. Tahy, would you come this way please?"

He leads her into one of three offices. The first one has Venari and the grox-head, the third and largest is empty. The plaque on the desk reads:" Arricnak, Deputy Department Head." The older man sits in a comfortable chair across the room from the desk and motions her graciously into the other.

"Mrs. Tahy why don't you tell me about your interest in this position?" He begins.

She parrots the answers she and Gregor worked out, similar experience in ManadlMotors, etc. They go back and forth like that for awhile; why did you come here, what did you do before, how do you find Kirvella and so forth. Finally he sets down the pad.

"Your husband just started in Testing didn't he?" The man asks.

"Yes, um, just this morning actually." She answers.

It's jarring to hear Gregor referred to as her husband.

"Had he been looking for work long?" Arricnak continues. Hopefully he hasn't noticed her discomfort.

"Um, elsewhere, yes. But he started on here fairly quickly I think."

"And you followed him."

"Yes."

"Mrs. Tahy, please be honest, was the corporate structure at MandalMotors much like this?"

She pauses, trying to guess if this is some kind of a trick question. But the man just looks at her earnestly. Finally she speaks. She's guessing here and can only pray that she's not about to get herself in trouble.

"Not really, no."

"I didn't think so." He says with a smile. She's probably vaped anyway so she just goes for it.

"It's not exactly a top down kind of place. They aren't big on that, Mandalorians. They expect work, good work, and a halfway decent attitude most of the time. But so long as you pull your weight, you're fine."

His smile gets a little bigger.

"Yes, yes that is a bit more...unstructured than we're used to. But one can hardly argue with their results, at least before..."

"Yes, it did. Before."

"Mrs. Tahy I th-" the door to the office opens. The younger man, alone now, is standing in it.

"That's the last of them Petrus. I'm going to leave my recs on Xen's desk."

The old man frowns.

"You haven't spoken with Mrs. Tahy. I believe she is down for a double evaluation."

The young man sneers.

"I don't think that's necessary. I can see-"

"Geritt." Snaps the old man. The younger one shuts up but still looks nasty. He finally shrugged indolently.

"Fifth needs a new one, send her down there. I don't think the head office needs dilu-"

"That is more than enough Gerrit Hessak." The old man snaps. He turns to Thena.

"Pardon me Mrs. Tahy, would you mind stepping into the lobby for a moment. I need to speak with my subordinate."

Thena gets up and tries not to slink out of the office. Gerrit steps carefully out of her way, like he's making a point not to touch her, even accidentally. She can guess why. She takes a second to compose herself before heading back into the now empty lobby. The reception droid whirs at her.

"Here is you application, thank you for coming. We will be contacting the eligible candiat-"

It stops mid sentence and goes stiff for a moment. Someone's sending an over-ride code to it. It whirs, clicks and then says:

"Please have a seat."

That's it. No timeline, nothing. Thena sits down feeling pretty stiff and droid-like herself. She realizes the pad is still in her hands. She thinks about turning it on but her fingers are cold and hard; unresponsive.

Gerrit had been about to say 'dilute,' she's almost positive. Dilute, half-breed; she's been out on the hard edges of society where things like that are less important for a long time. She's all but forgotten what it felt like to be seen as half of something. It hurts just as bad as it did when she was a kid.

She wonders what's going on back in that nice office. The old guy seemed okay but who knows, maybe he's just better at hiding it. Why is she still here? Are they going to call her back in and ask her why she, a sub-being, would ever presume to apply for a position like this? Can they do that?

She doesn't even realize she's sweating until the a drop splash on the pad. _Kriff_ it, she can't take this. She'll wait tables, let Gregor be the spy. Maybe she can help out another way, help him sneak bugs into buildings at night or something but this is too much. She gets up and slips to the far lifts, out of the droid's sightline in case it tries to stop her.

* * *

She forgets which bus she's supposed to take to get back and finally has to ask a woman on the street. She's half afraid the lady's going to sneer at her too but she just rattles off a line number and points. Thena mumbles a thank you and runs for the stop indicated. She misses the bus by a handful of seconds. It feels like days before the next one arrives. By the time she gets off near the apartment it's past fourth hour. She thinks about just comming Gregor and going inside; maybe curling up in a fetal position and on the bed. She know she can't though. If he comes home to her like that he'll freak out.

She sprints for the factory. Gregor runs into her, or rather she runs into him, literally, half way there. They're in the middle of the street. There are people everywhere. She is a grown woman who is not about to collapse into her man because someone called her a nasty name. She's not.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?" He asks.

He's trying to sound casual but she hears how tense he really is. It's too much. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and whispers her story to his jugular vein. He can't possibly hear it but strokes her hair and half drags her a few more blocks back the way he'd come. She drags her face out of his comfortingly damp, salt scented clavicle when it suddenly gets darker. They're under a bunch of huge, old trees.

"Wha?" She sniffs.

"You said you'd come to the park with me. Here's the park."

He smiles a little but it's mostly lost to worry. She tries to smile back.

"Can we walk?" She asks.

"Yeah, c'mon I'll show you what I found."

He all but drags her deeper into the park. It's not quite what she meant by 'walk' but he's eager to get where ever he's going. He stops suddenly and she almost trips over him.

"There."

"It's a...waste disposal unit?"

"Yeah, but also a dead drop. See how no one's around. You stash a pad underneath, mark it with a infrared tab and..."

She's still sweating and her nose is clogged again. The guilt is eating her alive. She feels a rush of hot, angry shame that she's so out of control but that just makes it worse. Gregor's gone pale and silent as he looks at her. He pulls her to a bench.

"Force, what happened Ten'ika. Are you...Do we need to leave?"

"No, no. We're fine. You're fine. I...just...I completely _feked_ up the interview and then one of the guys said they didn't want dilutes-"

"One of the guys said what?"

"I'd forgotten..."

"Ten'ika he can't do that. "

"He did Gregor. I was there."

"I-I..." He hugs her, hard, digging his chin into her hair.

"You want me to go murder him for you?" He asks.

She almost says yes but thinks better of it. He might not be joking and they don't need to be hiding a body while also trying to do a spy job.

"No. I'll...I'm sorry. I wanted to help but...Are there any restaurants you saw with openings?"

"I only went to one and I think maybe you shouldn't work there."

"Oh, why?"

"I may have insulted the one of the waitresses by not taking her com-code."

"Oh?"

Suddenly she's forgotten about that bastard in HQ.

"Yeah. It wasn't such a big deal. She wasn't that cute I think."

Gregor's flippant tone of voice only makes the sudden red edges to her vision worse. Gregor can't go an murder some corporate bigwig over a an insult but who's going to miss a skanky waitress. Thena's head is suddenly full of plans.

"This happens to you often?" She asks, trying to keep her voice calm. Because Gregor's a soft-touch when it come to women. He won't understand why she needs to get rid of that whore.

"Fairly often. Usually I just let them down gently."

"Usually?"

He's laughing. She almost punches him until she realizes he's teasing her. Oh, now she feels a little guilty for formulating elaborate murder fantasies about a woman who probably didn't even deserve her anger, probably.

"Grox." She growls.

"You're so pretty when you get all jealous, how could I resist?"

"You've been hanging around with Jaing too much."

But she smiles at him anyway and not just because he said she was pretty. He smiles back for a moment and then hugs her again.

"You know I'm just joking right? I'm not sneaking around."

"I know."

There's something more on the tip of her tongue. She feels words there but she's not sure what they are. She doesn't trust herself to say more when she's still so emotionally wrecked. Gregor doesn't seem to have noticed. He's talking.

"We'll find you someplace to work that's nice. There's all kinds of little places near the apartment. You should loo-"

His com goes off, followed by hers, followed by the pad; which she's forgotten to return lighting up to show an incoming message.

"What the?" She murmurs, not recognizing the signal. Gregor apparently does because he thumbs on his com without a thought and hisses.

"36, N-10?"

"Negative, N-11. Are you secure?"

Gregor checks around them carefully. Thena starts to get up but he grabs her wrist and shakes his head. He pulls something the size of a thin stylus out of his pocket and clicks the top twice. There's a soft buzz from her com and the pad and then they go dead.

"Curtain active. We're secure. Go ahead eleven."

"Is the girl with you."

"Affirmative."

"Then tell her to follow directions next time. Her running out of that office nearly blew the op. She wants in on this she does as she's told."

"Hey, eleven or wha-" She starts. But Gregor shakes his head violently at her. She crosses her arms and shuts up; glaring alternately at him and the com.

"Ms. Kuora." the unfamiliar Null barks "I will pull you out myself if you decide to jeopardize this mission further."

"What is it eleven?" Gregor growls, snaking a possessive hand across her leg. Thena feels her chest warm up with a very primal sort of pride.

"Kuora needs to contact Mer-Son R&D ASAP and reassure them that she will not be pressing charges for the comments made by corporate personnel chief Gerrit. She also needs to send the documents with the incriminating commentary back to Mer-Son as a condition of her accepting the position."

"What?" She barks in unison with Gregor.

"That's the condition of your hire negotiated by your legal representative. Call them back, tonight. And send back the copies of your interview documents saved on that pad."

Thena doesn't know what to say; is actually seconds away from telling this Null to _kriff_ off. Gregor speaks up before she can.

"You set this up didn't you? How?"

Thena blinks, stunned. There is no way anyone is smart enough or slick enough to have set this up. Gregor's putting way too much faith in the Nulls. Then the guy on the other end sighs and says:

"How else do you think we were going to get a half educated waitress into a corporate position so fast? Gerrit's a pro-humanist. He goes to rallies, quietly contributes to the One Society Party."

"That's still a hell of a gamble. How would you have known he'd spit something like that out."

"It's damned helpful to have a saber-jockey on your side every now and then. Bardan worked him up over some ales at lunch."

"I haven't got a lawyer." Thena rasps. That's the one part she can think about for some reason. It's a solid fact in a sudden morass of strangeness.

What?" Gregor asks, turning to her.

"He said that someone, a legal representative, contacted Mer-Son. And that my application with something incriminating on it. I haven't seen my application since I filled it out and I didn't tell anyone about what happend until I saw you twenty minutes ago." She states flatly.

Gregor grinds his teeth for a long moment before speaking.

"I imagine one of them hacked the Mer-Son systems and probably played your lawyer too." He says slowly.

"Yes, clearly Gregor. The reception droid's one of ours too. Mereel's slicer friends put her in two days ago." Responds the Null.

Thena wonders suddenly if it's this Null that did the calling. He sure as _fek_ sounds scary enough.

"What if she doesn't want to do it now? Is it really wise to antagonize the office and then throw her into that?" Gregor's saying stubbornly.

"Not an option now. You've committed. Follow through. You've got a check in in thirty hours. I don't want to have to talk to you before then."

The com goes dead in Gregor's hand. He blinks at it a couple of times, grimaces and pulls the stylus back out to deactivate the security field. He stands up, dumps everything back in his pockets and rubs hard at his beard.

"Who the hell was that?" Thena snaps.

"Not here. Let's go home."

"No, tell me."

"At. Home."

She's not happy with his sudden caginess but, she reminds herself, that they're on possible enemy ground. She can't see anyone in the fast darkening park but Gregor's clearly taking no chances. She sighs and stands up. She doesn't really want to hold his hand but he grips hers so hard she doesn't really have a choice as they walk out of the park.

* * *

"Who the hell was that?" She asks the moment he's thrown the security scrims on the apartment. He sighs again. He's done that a lot in the ten minute walk back to the building. Sighed and run a hand over his beard and said nothing.

"Ordo"

"Orders, nothing-"  
"No, that's his name. Ordo. He's the very serious Null. I've only met him once and he's...well he's _shabla_ scary."

Thena's flat shocked to hear Gregor repeat her inner assessment of this Null almost exactly. Gregor's not scared of anything. Not back on Abafar, not when he went off to do Force knew what madness with Jaing, nothing. He worries and he frets but he doesn't get _scared_. She feels her own fear return full force when she looks up at him and sees his expression.

"So I'm taking that job, whether I ever want to go back to that damned place or not is what you're saying."

She tries to keep the quiver out of her voice but he hears it and looks stricken. It tears at her as she remembers that he's still new to this too; that he's human and maybe can be afraid sometimes. She sighs, and takes a deep breath, and squares her shoulders. It's time to be big and bad and brave, for Gregor.

"Okay. Give me a com. I'll go out on the porch and tell them I'll be back tomorrow so long as they make that Gerrit bastard swing in the wind."

"Ten-" She holds up a hand. He shuts up.

"You're terrifying pal Order's right. I said I was in so I'm in. But for you okay, not them, not your Republic. Just you. You can keep that to yourself if you want to but I thought you should know."

She hadn't meant to say that; hadn't meant to burden him with that but in the mess of raw nerves and old pain it had just came out. She's kind of happy it did. This is probably about to be the hardest thing she's ever done, walking back into that office and playing at being a spy. If there is ever going to be a time to say heavy things it's now.

He's silent for a long time, thinking things over. Then he walks back to where she's still standing near the door and hugs her. Just wraps his arms around her and holds on for a long time. No 'thank you,' no 'you're a brave girl.' It's not needed. He holds her and she knows.

He steps back finally and walks her to the balcony door. He opens it like it's the door to a sky-carriage and she's a lady in a fairy tale. She almost expects him to kiss her hand as she steps out onto the stained rockcrete. He doesn't but the look on his face is better than storybook gallantry. He closes the door behind her and steps back into the apartment. She can't hear anything through the sound proofing but she watches him start dinner for a few minutes. It makes her feel brave again for some reason.

She sees that he's already keyed in HQ's com code. She smiles as she presses 'send.'

"Mer-Son Research and Development, how may I direct your call?"

"This is Thena Tahy. I'd like to speak with Deputy Head Arricnak please."

* * *

So I realize I'm making the Nulls into assholes. It's deliberate, especially with Ordo because, well, he is an asshole. Read the Republic Commando Series again if you disagree. The man's got a good set of reasons for his behavior but it doesn't make him less of a jerk. But I think he'd be very good at getting things done in the context of military intelligence. He's not going to care who he steps on to get his intel and that's pretty much what matters in this context. As such he's going to use Thena's mixed species heritage as an advantage regardless of how she feels about it. And he's going to have Bardan Jusik put the whammy on someone because that's necessary as well, in his eyes.

So yes, I'm interpreting the Nulls and the entire Republic Intelligence community in a fairly negative light and I'm doing it deliberately. Remember this story is from the perspective of Gregor and Thena, people on the ground who are basically caught up in the machinery of the war. I hinted at it in the previous chapter and I'm saying it now so that everyone's clear. Because this is fanfiction, not literature, and I want everyone to be on the same page.

And now I will step off my soapbox and thank you all for reading. Also, please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

This one's a bit shorter than I have been giving you. Thank the Federal Government Shut-down. I'm one of four "essential" staff left in my office. It is such, such fun. (Can you tell I'm tired? It's like a four year old's birthday part at my house right now. My husband is morose b/c he has no work at all and I'm cranky as hell since eating and sleeping halfway normally is out of bounds at the moment). I pity our roommate who seems to be living with her boyfriend at the moment for fear of the pair of us.

Anyway...this chapter: the plot thickens.

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

Read and Enjoy.

* * *

The place is called Sweet Paseck's. It's the sort of establishment tailored to appeal to a certain type of male coming off a long, tedious day in proto-type testing. Just the males or the type of female who likes her partners with cheap, tight clothes and improbably enhanced figures. There aren't any of the later Gregor notes. He wonders if it's just that the females who like their own gender in the department are more sensible or if they don't feel welcome in the clouds of testosterone.

He doesn't feel totally comfortable himself when he gets right down to the meat of it. The place reminds him too much of Beerkin's. True the women look less beat down and the air of barely suppressed desperation and violence is mostly missing but in the end it's still a sleazy flesh-bar and that's enough. He's seen where this road ends and he doesn't like it.

But he's still here tonight because he's got a job to do. He's been on The Line as it's called colloquially for two weeks and this is his first social invitation from a co-worker. Crent had clapped him on the shoulder during their lunch break hard enough to rattle Gregor's teeth and invited him out to the 'pub' for a celebratory round. At first Gregor almost refused. He's promised to talk with Thena about bugging the head of Research's office.

She'd called him ten minutes after reaching her that morning desk and told him that she now had a solid reason. But Crent's celebration is in honor of the completion of round three testing on a new electromagnetic grenade design, exactly the kind of thing a Sep plant would love to know about. So He'd waived Thena an pre-emptive apology for coming home late and agreed to accompany Crent to the pub.

So far it's been one of his less productive ideas. He still hardly knows anyone and so he's had the same conversation about a dozen times so far. Most people are curious about where he's come from but don't want to get too friendly. So he runs down his back story over and over and over. He tries to ask questions himself sometimes but the answers he gets sound equally rehearsed and vague.

After an hour or so he's at the bar trying to get a non-alcholic drink and starting to wonder if maybe everyone else is a SAPINT asset too. They're all here trying to extract information out of one another about the dark, dirty goings on of Mer-Son while in reality none of them knows anything because they're all maintaining a cover. It's amusing to think about; much better than wondering if this is what normal civilians are actually like.

"Hiding Gregor?" Shouts Crent from somewhere behind and to the left of him. Gregor manages to turn his instinctual twitch toward his hip holster, which he isn't wearing, into a surprised looking startle.

"Crent, you...I didn't see you." Crent beams, clearly several drinks down already.

"No worries. How are you finding it? Haven't made friends yet I see."

Gregor's worked out that it's generally better to let the garrulous Crent arrive at his point on his own. He shrugs and sips the watered down beer the barman's finally put in front of him and waits. Crent doesn't disappoint.

"Well they're a colorless lot. Come with me lad, I'll introduce you to someone with a bit more personality.

Gregor sincerely hopes this isn't some veiled attempt to set him up with one of the costumed bar-girls but he'll have to cross that bridge when he gets to it. He grabs his glass and follows the older man through the crush of patrons toward the back of the room. He's relieved to see Crent raise a hand to a small, dark haired man with a neat chin-strap beard leaning on the far wall.

"Gregor this is Alain Herrox. He's over on five line."

"'Rox Gregor's come in from MandalMotors."

Herrox, who's been looking somewhere between bored and hostile since they'd walked up suddenly brightened a bit and offers a hand to Gregor.

"Did you? I was on Keldabe for three years, Mer-Son liaison." Gregor breathes out and takes another sip of beer to buy himself time.

"I've never been to Keldabe. I'm from Concordia." He lies, hoping that Herrox hadn't made it to that particular backwater. He's in luck.

"Oh, yeah, they did have a weapons testing crew over there didn't they? Can't say they ever let me near the place though."

"Yeah, don't think they would." Gregor isn't quite sure why he's said that; where he's going with this but something about Herrox is rubbing him wrong. It might just be the spillover of his annoyance with the lack of movement on this job but for some reason he just feels hostile toward the other man.

"Oh yeah?" Herrox drawls, dark eyebrows drawing down to a point over his nose. With the beard makes him seem sort of sinisterly fey. Gregor shrugs, reminding himself sternly to behave, that he doesn't need enemies here. He gets himself under some control and manages an answer that sounds more bored than rude.

"It's not like they just let anyone wander through their testing department. Didn't want to lose their edge right?" Crent laughs too loudly, clearly wanting to diffuse the tension that's still tight around them. Herrox's frown deepens.

"Neither do we." Gregor catches his drift and feels a current of electici-cold adrenaline pulse behind his eyes. Oh, so that's what it is. He feels a little better now that he can tell what's setting him on edge about this other man. Herrox suspects him. Probably not of what he 's actually up to but the man clearly doesn't trust Gregor. Okay, this he can deal with; this he was trained for. He needs to throw Herrox off a bit and make sure that, even if the man doesn't like him, that the dislike will seem irrational. When in doubt, as Kom'rk likes to remind him, tell at least sixty percent of the truth.

"You think I'm trying to steal your work Herrox?" He asks, letting his eyes smile while his tone stays hard. It works. Herrox glowers like a boy caught in some mischief by a teacher.

"I didn't say that." He snaps petulantly. "But why'd you leave Mandal anyway?" Gregor feels an unpleasant smile pulling at his mouth. He lets it show.

"Mandalorians aren't as into weapons as they once were it seems. We've decided to try fighting war a new way this time. Or not fighting as it were."

Crent looks uncomfortable, his ruddy skin now even pinker but Herrox is no longer frowning. He's smiling, in an oily, reptilian sort of manner.

"You into all that then? That warrior-race stuff of theirs?"

Gregor shakes his head. Letting his face go blank and then grimacing like the very thought is annoying.

"I haven't got any armor or that and I don't do mercenary work." Which is all true, mostly. "I don't care about what the Keldabe types think either way but I make guns, not farm equipment."

"Especially when there's a war on." Herrox almost purrs.

Gregor shrugs again.

"Especially when you decide to commit economic suicide by not trading with either side."

"You a political man?" Herrox asks, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

It's the second time that subject's come up. First Hui asked and now Herrox. It's understandable, Gregor's made a comment about his disagreement with the New Mandalorians' neutrality but now Gregor's absolutely certain there's something more to the question. As a clone he can read micro-expressions better than most humans and his already observant nature's been kicked into high gear by this mission. Neither the foreman nor Herrox are asking idly. He feels his heart rate kick up as he recognizes what all this means. It's an in, a way down into what's really maybe going on below the polite surface of the Testing line. He almost grins but stops himself just in time. Instead speaking in a tired drawl that he hopes conveys interest in more information without being too obvious.

"I've got a wife and maybe someday I want a family. Hard to get that when you're building tractors nobody wants."

"But isn't peace preferable to war?"

"When was there peace? Because I worked on a weapons line and we had quite the number of orders before the supposed peace ended."

Herrox's oily smile is going unctuous and his eyes are glittering weirdly. He obviously thinks he's found a sympathetic ear. Gregor doesn't let his expression change even as he crows inside; almost got him.

"There's always scum that needs cleaning up isn't there?" Herrox chuckles.

"Doesn't matter to me as long as I get paid." Gregor shoots back

"But what about when those in charge fust about and vote to cut your throat?"

Yes, that's it, walk right into it _mer'sheb_. Gregor doesn't want to overplay his advantage. He pretends to hesitate.

"That's not the way of it."

"Isn't it?" Hisses Herrox.

"Alain old son, this is a drinking night." Crent breaks in suddenly.

His voice is jovial but Gregor picks up something under it, a kind of tension that's not really like worry; more of a warning. Gregor expects Herrox to object or at least brush Crent off as a drunken nuisance but the younger man doesn't say anything. He just shrugs and goes back to frowning at the room in general as though the conversation with Gregor had never happened. Crent slings an arm across Gregor's shoulders and pulls him back toward the bar.

"Herrox talks a lot of rot. He's hot-headed. Don't let him chat you into a fight."

Gregor's miffed at the interruption. Just when he was getting somewhere. He shrugs off Crent's arm.

"Better talking about something than nothing at all." He snaps, not able to control his anger.

Crent's smile doesn't waiver; it's as fixed as it was when he stepped between Gregor and Herrox. Gregor starts to sweat, feeling the cold wetness on his spine that has nothing to do with the number of people crammed into this small space. Then Crent's smile changes, gets a little smaller but his eyes take on a light, an expression that wasn't in them before. Gregor's not fast enough to process what that momentary expression might mean because Crent suddenly scoops a pair of men seemingly out of thin air. The cadaverous looking one with the watery brown eyes is Crent's companion from the diner weeks ago, Kai. The other's a stranger.

"Gregor, Mertis Kai, who you've met and Auxal Madan who you haven't. They're a bit less...well they're not quite like Herrox. Sorry about that. Much better conversation, I'm sure."

And with that Crent vanishs into the crowd again, leaving Gregor with his new acquaintances.

"How're you finding it?" Asks Kai at length.

"Good, work's good." Gregor answers.

It's loud here toward the center of the room, he has to shout to be heard. Conversation has to be conducted in short, auto-fire bursts to compete with the noise.

"That's good," bellows Kai. "How's your -"

"I'm sorry what?" Gregor calls back.

"Why don't we go outside?" Shouts Madan. "I can't hear a _kriffing_ thing."

They shuffle outside, leaving their empty glasses on a table as they go. It's chilly after the too-warm crush inside and Gregor finds himself wishing for a jacket. Kai too stands rubbing is arms while Madan immediately lights a cigarette. He offers the pack around politely. Kai declines but Gregor takes one, wanting to clutch it for warmth more than anything else.

"How's your girl." Asks Kai suddenly. Gregor blinks.

"Sorry?" He asks when Madan makes it clear he's not going to respond to the question.

"Your girl. You couldn't hear me in there. You said you had one before right?"

"Oh, yeah. She's good."

"She here?" Asks Madan, still staring pensively into the night.

"Yeah, uh, she's been here for a few weeks."

"Ugh, I should go home."Grunts Madan aprops of nothing; attempting to light his cigarette.

Gregor obligingly stands in the wind in front of him. He nods in thanks and offers the light. Gregor savors the warmth of the flame on his face as he leans in for a moment. He remembers not to inhale too deeply, lest he start coughing, as he cups the glowing stick in his palm.

"Crent said she's working in the Head Office?" Prompts Kai, ignoring Madan's outburst. Gregor shifts uncomfortably, wondering why this man wants to know so much about Thena.

"Yeah." He replies at length.

"Ah, you should have her keep you." Laughs Madan smokily, "why're you working at all with a Packet like that coming in? Me, I'd just load about and let her do the hard work." Gregor bristles a little but forced a smile as Kai laughed too.

"I want to work." He grinds out. Madan shrugs, shakes his head and smokes on.

"Fair enough mate." He finally replies.

"You really like it?" AsksKai.

"What?"

"Working. The line. You really like it?" Gregor isn't quite sure how to respond. Kai sounds slightly incredulous.

"Sure. I mean what else am I going to do?"

"It's pretty dull though." Kai says.

"Try washing dishes." Gregor shoots back before he can stop himself. Madan laughs again and lights another cigarette off the stub of his old one.

"It does beat that." He allows. Kai nods.

"Yeah, I mean it's not like we're assembly line droids. You're right." He agrees.

"What you grousing for?" Madan asked Kai. "Hui riding you again?"

"Nah, I'm just..."

"Here it comes." Murmurs Madan. Gregor's looks at him, confused. He only motions with his cigarette toward Kai. Who's still talking.

"...don't get me wrong, I appreciate it but I mean what's the point?"

"The point?" Gregor asks, still unclear as to what is going on here.

"To all this. To making and selling guns."

"Profit?" Madan asks ironically.

"You know what I mean." Snaps Madan but he keeps going. Gregor's not sure if it's for his benefit or just to keep talking.

"We sell the guns and then what's to stop our customers selling them off to the very people we were supposedly arming them against in the first place."

"The Army of the Republic is not selling weapons to the Sep-Alliance." Snaps Gregor.

"Well what about the other ones then?" Kai presses stubbornly.

"It's not our job to worry about what one Weequay clan does to another." Sighs Madan, exhaustedly.

"Why do we sell to them at all then?"

"We sell to Corellia and Anaxes too."

"That's different."

"Why is that?" Gregor interjects.

"Because. Because that's a civilized population isn't it?"

"Meaning what?"

Gregor's got a bad feeling about this conversation. He's never really had to think about why one set of sentients might not like another; until Thena anyway. He's never seen Thena as anything but, well, Thena. He hadn't had a set of physical ideals firmly in mind when he'd met her. Abafar, for all it's many faults, was also a pretty free-wheeling place as far as xen-relations went.

There had never been any hint of a problem or that his being with a half-human was somehow improper. Humans were rare on Abafar and the non-humans tended to be as interested in other species as much their own half the time, thus why Mi Syung had been one of the highest earning whores in the city. But ever since Thena'd come back from her interview and told him about the vile things that had been said to her he's become sensitive. He's started to see pro-human bias everywhere. And now he was seeing it in Kai's speech.

"They obey law for one thing. They don't just wantonly kill each other. I mean you or I could go live there no problem but if we tried to live with a Weequay clan, or work for a Hutt? C'mon we'd probably be eaten."

"Just because they're human."

"Whoa, whoa, hey I'm not a humanist man." Kai says, holding his hands up. "I've got a Duros friend."

"We sell to Duro." Madan points out.

"Exactly." Kai says, seizing on to the comment like a lifeline. "Duros are civilized too, so're, say Twi'leks."

"And easy on the eyes." Mutters Madan.

"All I'm saying is we make some dangerous stuff, right? So why should we sell it to dangerous, untrustworthy type?."

"How would you stop your guns being sold though, after you've finished with them?" Gregor asks, still wary but curious as to where Kai was going with this line of reasoning.

"With proper law enforcement. Control, you know, order."

"Isn't that what the Republic has?" Asks Gregor.

He knows it's fishing of the most obvious sort but it's just too good a chance to pass up. Kai shrugs.

"I suppose but it's...it's not the best is it?"

"Well once we win the glorious war we shall have a return to peace and prosperity and all that rot." Huffs Madan. His third cigarette is rapidly going out as the flame reaches the filter.

"Well revolutionaries I'm done for the night. Can I offer anyone a ride home? Gregor?" He continues.

Kai's already turning back toward the warm glow of Paseck's. The opportunity's lost. Gregor admits defeat.

"Yeah, thanks Madan." He says. "Let me grab my coat."

* * *

"There is something seriously wrong with that man. I thought at first it was just me. I mean I'm apparently replacing someone who left under...mysterious and/or abrupt circumstances and then the way I all but blackmailed them into giving me the job. But Arricnak is fine, very nice but not too nice if you follow my meaning. Also I am completely naked right now, except for the sparkly nipple tassels which I am twirling as I shimmy."

"Sorry, what?"

Gregor hadn't meant to drift off while Thena was telling him about her suspicions regarding her boss. But he's still trying to unpack the conversations with Herrox and Madan and Kai. Now Thena's standing, fully clothed, hands on her hip, glaring at him. He smiles ruefully and rubs at the back of his neck.

"Sorry Ten'ika. I was thinking about something else." He repeats.

She sighs, rolls her eyes and walks over to where he's sitting in front of the primary transmitter pad in the 'office.' He should be completing a report for the Nulls but he's just been staring at the screen for the past half and hour. Thena'd noticed and come in to talk to him about her findings. Now she sighs through her nose and sits down in his lap to show he's at least marginally forgiven.

"What happened tonight baby?" She asks.

He lets his head rest against her chest as she starts to rub the tense muscles of his neck.

"Mmm, it was just...weird."

"Weird how?"

"I don't...I think I may have found someone with Sep leanings but I couldn't talk to him much. Crent, the one I told you about, the kind of unofficial sergeant to Hui? He steered me away from the other man pretty quick."

There's silence in the room except for Gregor's occasional grunt as Thena's strong fingers find a particularly recalcitrant knot. She's rubbing thoughtfully, taking time to consider what to say. Finally she speaks.

"Well...some people just talk. Did this other man, the one with Sep sympathies seem capable of what you suspect is going on or is he just a malingerer?"

"I don't know. He didn't seem popular. I mean Crent introduced me but that may have been because nobody else was talking to the guy and Crent's a mother-nuna type if I ever saw one."

Thena chuckles and starts to un-clasp his work shirt to get better access to the muscles of his shoulders. He helps her undo the snaps as well as the fasteners on his wrists. She pushes the cloth off his shoulders to leave him in just his white undershirt. She has to shift a little to reach, ending up straddling one of his legs. He drops his hands to her hips to stabilize her as she gets to work on the muscles behind his clavicle.

"Is that it?" She asks. Gregor climbs out of the reverie her hands are putting him in and shakes his head slowly.

"No, then I had a smoke with a couple of other guys."

"Ah, I was wondering why you smelled."

He pinches her bottom gently and she squeaks, then laughs.

"It was cold and a SAPINT resource must blend in." He reminds her primly.

"Of course. So what did they say?"

"Not much. One was very..."

"Very what?"

He sits up straighter. She stops her massage as he looks at her.

"Ten'ika, I'm...I don't want to upset you but...have you seen much of that pro-human sentiment since..."

She cocks her head to the right and looks at him carefully. Her eyes seem very black in the dim light.

"Did one of them say something along those lines?"

"Not exactly. One of them, Kai, was going on about law and order and not selling weapons to 'uncivilized' people."

Thena nods thoughtfully.

"That's pretty normal I think. I remember on Nar Shadda these missionaries that used to come in from somewhere further in-rim and preach about the glories of the Republic and how we'd all be protected from criminal scum if we only rose up and joined them."

"That sounds like what the Seps are supposed to be doing."

"I think everybody does it. Because it's easy to tell one group of people that another one's bad and evil and scary and if only they'd sign over their lives then the big, strong protector will save them."

"So you don't think he's pro-human?"

"He could be, maybe. A lot of the pro-human groups say similar things too."

"Well he did say that he had a Duros friend."

Thena snorts.

"Yeah they've _all_ got a Duros friend or dated a Zeltron at school or something."

"So you think he's really not good?"

"He's probably fine, most people aren't, like, vicious about it. They just never really think about what they're saying or who they're following if they've got that feeling of being protected."

"I get it. He does seem like follower."

"Yeah, I think most people are."

"You're not though." He says suddenly, flinching at it as it leaves his mouth.

He'd had the urge to say something nice to Thena. He's been asking her about a topic that's got to be uncomfortable after all and instead of saying something meaningful he comes out with that. Thena smiles at him.

"I follow you into stupid spy missions."

"Yeah, I actually meant to say you're pretty or brilliant or something." He admits.

She smirks and presses her forehead to his.

"Oh, well you can just do that next time."

"So, tell me about your boss then, my lovely, clever woman." He says before he gets to distracted by the feeling of her breath ghosting across his lips. She grins and hops up to pace the room as she talks.

"He does everything we talked about. He comes and goes at odd hours, and it's not just because he's a high and mighty. Arricnak is completely exasperated by him, by how he's never around. I've heard him muttering when he comes out of Sym's office. That's his name by the way since you weren't listening, Levet Sym. Anyway, he also probably did something to the last assistant. She's left after less than a year and nobody knows where she is. Maybe he murdered her, okay, he probably didn't murder her but it's still strange. And he's got access to every single file of every single proto-type the company makes."

"So what do you want to do?" Gregor asks slowly, not sure he got everything in that rush of words.

"I don't know. Do we follow him somewhere or stakeout his house or something? We could bug his office, you've got all this stuff."

"Yeah. We could."

"Wait, which?"

"Well, all of them if we need to. But let's start with the bugging. I can't transmit that much data from here but I'll let the Nulls know to lookout for a dead drop if we get anything. Good job Thena."

She beams.

"Can I help with the bugging. I just got paid and I have a sudden urge to buy a cat-suit with my very first paycheck."

Gregor laughs.

"Um, I don't think you need that for planting bugs. But, don't let me stop you from getting whatever skintight clothing you want."

"Oh, well. Okay then. How do we plant bugs if not by creeping about dressed all in black at night?"

"If you come back over here and sit in my lap I'll tell you."

So she does and he does.

* * *

Next time: To paraphrase an X-Files episode; we're putting on something black and sexy and doing some funky poaching (sort of). Also I've been waiting for more than a decade to use that line.

I think there maybe more Nulls next time and I promise a swanky dress party/secret tailing mission soon because what's a spy story without formal wear?

Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

I'm late-ish with this again, I know. I'm sorry. The madness in my life is just getting to me. On the bright side I'm now furloughed too so I'll have plenty of time to write and distract myself (that's my bright side, don't judge me). After I get wasted and cry because I don't know how we're going to pay rent next month if this thing keeps going that is. Please let that not be the case.

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

Please read and enjoy

* * *

The assistant leaves at ten minutes past the hour. The transitional season is progressing quickly now and the sun is already halfway set; the air chilly and dry. She walks bent slightly forward into the wind, head down, coat clutched around her. When she stops to wait for her airbus the wind eddies up around her, blowing the yellow and ink-purple leaves in rising spirals. She keeps her head down but the wind grabs her dark hair from the loosened pins that have kept it in place all day; tears strands of it free and tries to thread leaves through it. The golden yellow ones shimmers in contrast and the purples seems to pick out sympathetic glints in the normally unrelieved blackness of her hair.

The bus screams to a halt on its repulsor brakes. The assistant shakes the leaves free of her hair and clambers into the dead atmosphere of the interior as fast as she can. The bus pulls away. The air-eddies have nothing to climb now. They sink slowly to the street, dejectedly blowing the leaves and dust into new patterns on the pavement.

The sun dips low, falling behind the unseen horizon. Its last rays shoot up the building the obstruct its view across the globe; painting them deep red and violent orange. With this final, visual gasp the sun falls down toward eastern hemisphere leaving the west in shadow. The lights in the surrounding building shine on for some time, making the glass and permacrete seem like transparent jewel boxes in the deepening dark. Then, one by one, the lights start to go out. Private speeders trickle away into the outer reaches of the city as the offices clear. The wind prowls around the increasingly empty plaza below the tall towers until it is alone moaning and growling to itself in the empty shadows.

An hour passes with the wind playing lonesome in the plaza. Then a man appears. He does not come by private speeder or airbus. He seems simply to materialize out of the night and cross the plaza. The wind follows him at a discreet distance, playing with the leaves a step and a half behind him but not straying too close. Another person is leaving the tallest of the buildings. The first man approaches this one. The person from the building, heavyset with lowslung facial horns jutting from his jaw, pauses to question the newcomer. The wind creeps up on them.

"Where's Pym?"

"Ill I think. I got a call not an hour ago."

"You're the emergency crew?"

"I am."

"I've not seen you before."

"They said there'd never been a call out for here."

"Damn right. I'm going to call and check with Daarsen. Is that a problem for you?"

"Be my guest."

The man from the building, the horned one, pulls out a small, personal com unit. The new one, the human who came out of the night, stands and waits, calmly watching the wind worry the leaves at the edges of the deeper shadow. The horned man grunts and tucks the com away.

"Apparently Pym's et something that's disagreed with him fierce." Says the horned man. The human grunts. The horned man continues.

"You know what to do then?"

"Watch the cameras. Do a walk up every two hours or so. I'm relieved at three."

"Right, just see that you don't touch anything on them walk ups."

The human doesn't respond. The horned man gives him a set of metal keys and a pair of auto- styluses. The human still says nothing. The horned man stalks off. The human smiles and begins to whistle softly as he unlocks the door to the tallest building.

The wind can't resist and races up behind him, eager to explore the new void of the lobby. But the man pushes the door shut too fast for more than the barest breath to streak inside, carrying only one, lonely, ink colored leaf. The man pauses as the rest of the wind clatters against the glass with leaves and twigs; bends down and picks up the dark leaf. He holds it up to examine, turning it left and right, tilting it up and down in the cold, chemical glare of the interior lights. He must find something pleasing about it, it's perfect tetralobed shape maybe or the way the dark staining of the dying tissue is broken up by threads of stubborn green. He tucks the leaf into an interior pocket of his drab jacket and walks to the security desk in the center of the floor and types something into the desk keypad before sitting down.

Two hours pass quietly. The man reads from a portable pad at the desk. Then one of the cameras monitoring the fourth floor goes out. The all of the cameras on the tenth go dark. The man looks up at the revolving bank of feeds from the cameras and swears. One by one the security cameras on floors four through ten fail. The man gets up, pauses to type a code into the main monitor at his station and walks toward the back of the lobby. He pulls open a section of wall marked with a simple circle crossed with two green, horizontal lines to reveal the dark guts of the building. He goes into the maintenance section and pulls the door closed behind him.

The man starts to climb the long access stairway. The service lights are only half as bright as those in the lobby and there are half as many of them. That leaves long swathes of shadow along the stairs that seem thicker than they should be, solid almost. Certainly they seem to swallow the faint sound of whistling as the man climbs. He carefully checks each access door as he passes, making sure all are locked from the inside, accessible only to someone with the proper keys or codes. He walks to the fourth floor, then the fifth, the sixth and on to the tenth. Which he passes by without more than the customary pause to check the door. He whistles as he climbs up and up into the shadows.

By the time he reaches his destination the whistling is more of a stubborn wheeze. Even for an exceptionally fit man the hundred and forty four flights of stairs are quite a lot. There's no light showing through the seams of the door on this floor but he still waits for a few seconds to let his heart rate drop and then a few more to listen for any furtive movements on the other side.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, silvered hoop. With a grimace he pushes it through a fresh hole in his left earlobe. He twists the hoop until he feels the built-in sub-audio sensors thrum gently through his skull. He waits, feeling for the extra twinge that should alert him to active bugs already in place.

There's nothing. He opens the door slowly. Only the green security lights illuminate the reception area. He reaches for the stylus the horned man had given him but stops, thumb hovering over the button. He tucks it back into his pocket without pressing it. Some things are better done in the dark. He pulls out a small lumo-wand, turns it on and ambles toward the back of the suite.

The first office is still unoccupied, former territory of the unlamented Gerrt Hessak. The man pauses to leave a nasty scratch on the wood of the door out of vindictive pettiness before continuing to the middle, largest office. He slips inside, tucks the lumwand between his teeth and gets to work unlatching the plaz casings of the desk mounted data process unit, the wired com and the bank on monitors. He even unscrews the knobs of one of the desk draws and places a wafer thin audio transmitter behind the glass veneer. He doesn't bother with visual bugs yet. Those are much harder to hide, best wait until there's proof of something worth recording.

He slips into the second office and repeats the process. This one lacks the top of the line glass-fronted desk. Instead he tucks his transmitter in the name plate holder, behind the plaz marker that reads Arricnak. Next he unscrews a few of the light bulbs at random and slips in his secondary audio system. This one is combination record and transmit and he's been guaranteed by his handlers that this one is undetectable to all conventional bug-sweepers. The quality is much lower but that's the trade off. He'll only actually activate these in the event of a failure or discovery of the primary system.

He pauses at the desk in the open, across from the three offices. There's very little in the way of personal effects on it, a plant with shiny pink leaves, a chipped mug that looks like it was originally from a low-rent diner and a thin, blue cardigan draped over the back of the chair. He hesitates a moment longer than begins planting his devices here too.

Elsewhere in the huge building a turbo-lift whirs to life. It descends from the ninetieth floor, buttons lighting up at each stop between there and floor seventy-five. From seventy-five to one there are no buttons. Residents of the upper floors are supposed to be kept segregated from the offices below. In theory. The theory breaks down when someone who can afford the exorbitant rent on the upper floors also happened to work in one of the offices below. But even this lucky person had to change lifts.

The private residence elevator bumps to a stop and admits a tall, youngish, sandy-haired man in an exquisitely tailored suit. He glances around and is pleased to find the security attendant absent from his post. The sandy-haired man walks quickly to the corporate lifts, gets in and pushes the button for the seventy second floor. He adjusts his cuffs, checks his collar and grimaces as the car whirs to a halt.

The absent security guard hears the lift chime as it opens in the reception area. He's just finished putting the cover back on the wired com-set at the assistant's station. He looks around in panic. There's nowhere to hide. The desk is open, no place to go underneath and he probably wouldn't fit anyway. He leaps over the top of the desk and dives into the Gerrt's former office with half a second to spare before the lights in the suite come up. The sandy-haired man walks into the executive suite and opens the door to the central office. He doesn't notice the shadow in Gertt's dark, former office flattening itself against the wall.

The data processing unit at the assistant's station suddenly lights up. It clicks and whirrs and clunks and the replacement security guard, the man who's not supposed to be anywhere near this building, let alone in this office, realizes he's not fully secured the front casing. The data units clicks louder, the internal mechanisms recognizing that there's something wrong. The unit begins to beep softly. The replacement guard is of half a mind to scurry out and close it. The door to the middle office is closed, he could make it.

The door to the middle office opens. So does the one to the outer suite. The assistant dashes in just as the sandy-haired man, in a different shirt now, steps out.

"Sorry!" the assistant squeaks, a little too loudly. The sandy-haired man says nothing but looks put-upon.

"I...forgot my sweater. Got all the way home and realized it wasn't in my bag." She babbles inanely, rushing to the chair and grabbing the blue cardigan.

"You could have gotten it tomorrow." The sandy-haired man grouses. "Security gets tetchy when we're constantly in and out of the office after nine."

"Sorry." She says. "But I'm off tomorrow and I...couldn't do without it."

The sandy-haired man doesn't quite roll his eyes. His tone is dismissive when he speaks.

"Good night Thena."

"Good night Mr. Fehrt." She responds brightly, as though she hasn't noticed his annoyance

The sandy-haired man retreats into the office, closing the door again. Thena waits until the door latched and then snaps the cover securely back onto the still beeping processor. She looks around for a moment before Gregor pulls the door to Gerrt's former office open. He hold his finger to his lips. She nods and motions toward the suite door, eyes still on Fehrt's office. Gregor slips out into the reception area. He considers going back down all those stairs but opts not to. Instead he gets into the lift with Thena.

"Won't this end up on the security feeds?" She whispers in alarm as the lift glides down.

"I've got an over-ride and false record in place. I'll put it in as soon as I get back to the desk."

"_Kriff_, I almost fainted when I saw Fehrt come out of the private lifts and head up here."

"How'd you get in the front door?"

"Security pass, works at all hours. There's supposed to be a man at the desk to screen visitors...but he seems to have abandoned his post."

"You're funny. But thank you. Good work."

"You're still off at three?"

"Yes."

"I've got the speeder two blocks back from where I let you off, by that old temple."

"Got it."

The lift stops. Gregor wants to kiss Thena goodbye, to touch her in some way but she's bouncing slightly manically from foot to foot and pointedly staying just out of easy reach. He lets her walk out with just a nod. She smiles at him and almost runs out the door. He crosses to the security desk, types in the series of override codes and inserts dummy footage into cameras aurek through grek on floor seventy two. He then undoes the virus he introduced upon logging in that threw off the cameras on floors four through ten. He checks the pin transmitter in the hoop Thena helped him pierce through his ear yesterday. It's less conspicuous than an ear piece, though also less powerful. He can hear the soft beeps its transmitting through his cartilage. The bugs are working. He'll check the feed when he gets back to the apartment. For now, for the next five and a half hours, all he can do is wait.

Outside the wind grumbles in the empty plaza like a sleepy child still insistent that it isn't time for bed.

* * *

Thena almost shoots him when he taps on the speeder's window a few minutes after three. She'd fallen asleep with his blaster in her lap. Lucky for him she's as quick to recognize a friend and react to potential danger. He climbs into the passenger seat, exhausted after the day's shift and the alternate terror and grinding boredom of tonight's impromptu security moonlighting.

"How's Pym?" He manages to ask, as his eyes slide closed.

He'd gotten the poor man's address from Thena, who'd shamelessly flirted with the night guard for more than a week to find it out. The mild neurotoxin the man had ingested in his food yesterday morning was supposed to be side-effect free, just terrible vomiting for twenty four hours and then it was flushed out of the system.

"I think he's fine. I didn't actually see him when I went by his place. His girlfriend looked disgusted but managed to be all jealous and yell at him as soon as I left so he can't be dying."

"Okay, good."

Gregor wants to feel guilty about poisoning, even temporarily, an innocent bystander but he just too damned wiped out at the moment. The ride back to the apartment is over before he realizes the speeder's moving. Thena hectors him up and out of the rented vehicle. He stumbles up the stairs after her and can't even muster enough energy to help her as she pulls his boots, trousers, jacket and shirt off. He just sits on the bed and follows orders to raise this or that limb.

He sort of rallies sometime later when she crawls into bed.

"_Ten'ika_?"

"Hmm?"

"What was your boss doing in the private area and then back in the office so late."

"No idea. Maybe it'll be in your recordings. I told you he was dodgy."

"Mmph." He agrees.

* * *

Two days later, after they've both spent a full day recovering and learning to effectively use the recordings equipment, Gregor's certain that Thena's right about Fehrt. The man is definitely up to something. The question is what. It's frustratingly unclear.

Fehrt's cagey. He makes a number of com calls to an apartment in the same building as the office but he never conveys useful information. He says things like, the usual time, I'm going to Gred's, I need to talk to you. There's never any calls back. Whoever he's meeting he's doing it off company property. Gregor's having Thena keep careful track of when Fehrt leaves and where he says he's going. They've checked out several of the places mentioned and it turns out Fehrt only shows up where he says he's going to be about half the time.

But that doesn't tell them what he's doing; where he is the other half of the time, anything. They need to press their advantage, they need to follow him, or have someone else follow him. To that end Gregor's been comming the Nulls for help. They're not answering. He'd tried Prudii first. Technically Prudii's his handler for this op, or so the man told him. But Prudii's out of range. So he tried Jaing, nothing. Nothing from Kom'rk either or Ordo or even Mereel, who Gregor still hasn't met in person but has com codes for from Prudii.

He types up a full report of the previous week's activities and sends it on the secure channel. No one coms him back, except for the automated positive receipt message that lets him know the data is at least secure. So the ops not blown. That much is obvious in the fact that neither he nor Thena have been arrested or murdered yet. He waits a day and sends another packet requesting permission to extend the mission from passive to active data gathering. Nothing but the auto-response comes back.

Thena's been asked to work late by Arricnak. So he's alone now, lurking in the 'office' with a bowl of a heated up can of stewed something or other that's nominally his supper. Mostly though he listening to Arricnak talk to Thena about some social function that she is helping him plan for the company.

"-largest of course is in the spring cycle, seven months now and, thank Sol we don't have to plan that one but this upcoming thing in less than a week."

Arricnak's voice is a light tenor, rounded on the vowels. He's got a rapid delivery, especially when he's nervous. It makes him sound almost boyish though Gregor thinks he must be nearly seventy. Thena is very fond of him, says he's always kind to her, speaks to her like an equal, requests work from her rather than demanding it. Everyone Gregor's asked, even in passing, has good things to say about Deputy Arricnak. The man's almost loved by his subordinates. It makes Gregor wonder why he's just a deputy director rather than in charge of R&D. Something else strange to look into.

In his earphones he hears Thena respond to the implied question in Arricnak's last statement.

"The museum has already confirmed the booking, as have the caterers. GeeEn tells me the responses to the invitations are ninety four percent complete and eight percent of the respondents are coming."

"How many is that?"

"One hundred and fifteen but I've asked GeeEn to round up to one twenty at least."

"Good, and the caterers know?"

"And the museum event staff, and the security."

"Good, good. I'm sorry I just..."

"Has the Director mentioned anything specific he'd like?"

Thena's voice seems very careful to Gregor as he listens in. Like she's tense but trying very hard not to sound it. He grits his teeth, worried that Arricnak is going to notice it and question her but the Deputy just sighs.

"He hasn't. I appreciate your being delicate about all of this but you know he hasn't been involved in the planning of this even at any point."

Thena says nothing. Arricnak sighs so loudly that Gregor hears it.

"I apologize Thena. It's not right that I burden you with this."

Thena stays silent but she must do something, motion at Arricnak or something, because he laughs softly and responds to her unspoken reply.

"No, you're not a sounding board for my frustrations, though I know I'm guilty of using you as one. This is...he's different. Before I felt...well I'm just not sure about what he wants out of this company anymore."

"I'm sure it's just a passing thing sir. Personal issues."

Arricnak' s chuckle is uncharacteristically cynical.

"Indeed. But that's not something we need to discuss. Have you got the layout and the changes to seating charts we discussed?"

"It's all noted down. I'll give them to the events director tomorrow afternoon at our meeting."

"Good, excellent. Thank you. I've kept you too long, go home."

"Thank you sir."

"Not at all. Oh, Thena?"

"Yes Deputy Director?"

"We will be seeing you at this event won't we? I haven't met your husband yet and Mirna is very eager to be introduced to you."

"I don't know sir...my husband's not much for this kind of party."

"Ask him though will you? I find most men will put up with all manner of indignities to see their wives in attractive dresses."

"Really sir?"

"I've been married to Mirna for forty years and I still do."

"I'll ask him sir. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Thena walks in thirty minutes later and cocks an eyebrow at him. He's sitting on the sofa attempting to read an inane novel.

"Well?" She says when he doesn't respond.

"Well?"

"Yes or no, are you coming?"

"I think there's should be more to that question."

"You have recordings of everything that goes on in that office. You heard what Arricnak wants."

"Maybe I haven't listened to them yet."

"Then why are you trying to read that awful, old flimsi novel the landlady gave you? Looking for romantic tips?"

"Er..."

The book was rather lurid when it came to sex. He'd already gotten through one scene that had quite a number of descriptions of throbbing and pulsing and clawing that were a little much. Thena snorts at his lack of response before collapsing next to him on the couch.

"Give me that. I want to see what's so fascinating that you're neglecting your work."

"I'm not neglecting anything." He grouses, fending off her attempts to grab the flim-book with one hand.

"Ha, you admit it! So are you coming with me to this party or not?"

Gregor sighs and lets her snatch the book from him.

"I haven't got anything appropriate to wear. And I'm not buying something I'll only wear once."

"Me neither. They rent out fancy rigs for these things."

"Rent out?"

"Sweet Force, this author's either a wild narglatch in bed or she's never gotten laid."

"Thena..."

She stops teasing and looks at him.

"Is something wrong?" She asks, eyes wide and worried.

He almost tells her that he can't raise the Nulls; almost tells her that he's afraid they're in the wind on this one and that every instinct he's got is screaming to just get out now. But something catches the words in his throat and holds them back. Duty probably; because he still wants to be a soldier, still wants to be capable and part of something bigger than himself. He still wants that more than he wants to just vanish into the unknown with Thena. He swallows.

"No, but what's the opportunity you're anticipating at this party?"

"Other than I need to go for my job, or cover or whatever? Well the entire upper leadership is going to be there, required merriment for the Mer-Son hundredth anniversary and all that. We can match every single name on the poobah roster to a face after this probably. And Fehrt's coming too. You can do some up close observation of him, maybe he'll give himself away."

She's looking at him with such serene confidence that it kind of hurts. She's certain that there's a plan, a path for this thing to end well and that he's thought of all of it. He can't let her know that he's feeling out of control. That he's not sure who to trust now that he can't even speak to the people nominally in charge of this thing. He's got to see it through to the end, not just for his sense of duty or self but because if they give up now Thena's going to see him as...As what? As less than she thought he was; foolish, naive?

Probably. He's thirteen years old. Thena's twice his age at least but she doesn't seem to realize that. She's seen more than him, almost certainly knows more about humanity or senitients in general than him but she doesn't realize it. He's fronted the confident man-with-a-plan to her too well.

"Yeah, fine. I'll go to your fancy dress party. Where do we rent out these clothes then?"

She grins and kisses him. He tries not to feel like a fraud.

* * *

Where are the Nulls? Is the op blown? Will Gregor's rented space-tuxedo have tails? Find out next time...

I will try hard not to be late next week but I can't give guarantees. I'm sorry again and thanks for sticking it out with me.


	8. Chapter 8

I am returned from Kyiv! Thank you God (and Brussels Air). I am also blithely ignoring the nasty comments of my relatives regarding the state of affairs in my adopted country that forced me to work in the Ukraine. (It was only for a week). Finishing this week's chapter for you lovely people helps immensely (as does getting paid again).

Please read and enjoy.

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

* * *

"And then I had to crouch out on the fire escape in my drawers for the better part of an hour until they fell back asleep. And let me tell you climbing down one of those quietly while clutching your clothes is not easy."

Madan's grinning like a pleased cat as he recounts his exciting tale of conquest from his evening off four days previously. The other two men at the table look rapt, or at least they're smiling. Gregor suspects Madan's lying about half of his encounter but he tries to look amused as well.

"Then as I'm pulling on my trousers I see this old woman from the building next door staring at me out her kitchen window."

There's another collective chuckle. Before Kai, draining his glass looks squarely at Madan and says, in a bightingly friendly voice.

"You are so full of bantha shit Mads."

Gregor stops, his glass halfway to his mouth and waits. Madan looks back at Kai just as squarely and responds:

"Missing your wild youth then?" The other man, whose name Gregor hasn't caught, laughs a little. The tension stretches for a moment, unexpected and sudden. Then Kai rolls his eyes.

"I stand by my statement and Maka and I are lovely, thank you for asking. I'm off for another, anyone else want? Gregor? Hennd?"

Gregor shakes his head, he's still got half a glass to finish. Hennd nods though and Kai vanishes toward the bar. Madan chuckles to himself and finishes his beer.

"I give it another month." He mutters. Gregor almost wants to ask what he's talking about but he's reluctant to entangle himself too deeply in his coworkers' social lives. Instead of answering he shrugs. Madan smirks to himself and stretches.

"Since Kai's not going to help a brother out I'm off for a smoke."

He levers himself out of his chair and wanders away, leaving Gregor and the hapless seeming Hennd to sit awkwardly in silence. Not knowing how to break the ice Gregor just lets the silence stretch. His mind drifting as he idly scans the street and wonders when he can safely duck out of here and get back to monitoring Fehrt.

This invitation from Madan was as unexpected as Crent's had been and Gregor had been ambiguous about accepting . There doesn't seem much point to pursuing leads down on the testing floor. He's quite certain that the leak is Fehrt. He's even toyed with out and out quitting Testing and just spending his time monitoring the bugs set up in HQ. Thena'd convinced him that such an action might look suspicious, or at least very strange; there'd be questions asked for certain. She's right and he's been trying to keep to his cover as the unassuming new guy ever since. Unfortunately that means taking time to do a bare minimum of socializing just so it's not obvious that he's lost interest in the job.

At least this gathering is small, just the four of them seated at a table on the veranda, really the pavement, outside a bar in one of the shopping districts. It's actually been a rather pleasant evening of listening to Madan and Kai snipe at each other. He's still new to this civilian interaction and the each facet is novel.

The weather's been unseasonably warm and sunny for this late in the season and everyone seems in a good mood. The remaining leaves on trees and shrubs are turning astonishing colors and great drifts of the ones that have fallen line streets like florid dunes. The finer restaurants are going all in on the old fashioned harvest theme that the season seems to provoke here and have started roasting things on wood fires. The air smells of smoke and a pleasant sort of decay all spiced by the sharp bite on the wind, even in the warmth of the past week; a reminder of the fast approaching cold season. It all combines to make everyone sort of mad in their desperation to enjoy the last days of comfort outdoors.

So Gregor finds himself sitting out among the crowds trying not to drink too much, despite Madan and Kai's mild insistence that he 'enjoy' himself. He's been watching people come and go for the better part of two hours, first the people swirling in and out of the shops and now, as the sun rapidly sets, smaller knots or couples drifting into the restaurants and pubs. They're all so happy and carefree seeming. Even the ones who walk by arguing or pensively muttering into hand-coms are blissfully oblivious to their surroundings in a way that is totally foreign to him.

He's carefully positioned, back to the half wall where the patio and the restaurant converge. He's got clear sight lines, five altogether, into the bar area and the street but with only two approaches possible to his own position. He's noted every person who's come into the bar, where they went, who they were with. He knows the number of people currently on the street, the makeup of their parties, which side streets they've turned down and generally how quickly he can get over the shrubberies dividing this al fresco dining area from the street in case of emergency.

He has two hold-out blasters stashed, one in his boot one tucked along his lower back. There's a knife concealed in the sole of his other boot as well and he's modified his belt to hide a reinforced, adamantine garrote wire should all else fail or if he needs silence.

He sleeps with a blaster in reach of the bed. It's not under the pillow, there's a risk he or Thena could bump it in the night, but it's still easily to hand. It makes him feel ever more alien. He's supposed to be suspicious of everyone, this is _shabla_ espionage after all, but he can't help but wonder if maybe he's too wary. Because he can't think of how he'd live if he wasn't on this mission; can't see himself strolling up and down streets in blind contentment, or blind anger.

"Where are you Gregor?" a voice asks from his left.

Madan has returned, smelling of burnt tabacc. The Hennd'd left one minute and twelve seconds ago, probably discomforted by Gregor's ignoring him. Gregor saw him walk toward the restrooms.

"Where's Hennd?" Madan asks. Gregor decides it's best to continue to play distracted. He shrugs and shakes his head. Madan smirks.

"Something good out there?" He asks. Gregor realizes he's not just going to drop the subject of what's on his mind.

"No, just thinking." He punts, hoping it's enough. It isn't.

"What about?" Madan asks as he settles into the absent Hennd's seat beside him. Gregor sighs inwardly and thinks fast. He keeps to his tried and true policy of giving vaguely honest replies.

"About the difference between here and my last place."

Madan nods sagely. Gregor doesn't roll his eyes, barely. Madan takes a contemplative sip of his drink and leans back in his seat.

"You miss it much?"

"What?"

"Concordia, you miss it?"

"I...I feel out of place here."

A true and uninformative statement, good. Madan nods again.

"So do I sometimes..."

Madan starts to drone off onto a description of how the working man is getting shoved out of the life he earned these days, nothing's fair, too many free loaders. For the first second the rant takes Gregor by surprise. This sort of thing seems more like what the malingering Herrox would want to talk about. Madan's been all sarcasm and tall tales to now. But after a moment Gregor sees his thread. He wants more money and less work, thinks there's a magic cure for his ills in a new order, blames others rather than his own laziness. All dull and useless.

Gregor stops paying attention as he gets going. Something much, much more interesting has just wandered into the Correllian Restaurant across the street. Fehrt, with a tall, red-head on his arm that Gregor knows from reviewing Mer-Son personnel files is not Mrs. Fehrt. They sit towards the back and Gregor has to strain to see them in the gloom of the dining room. His stomach is suddenly tight and his throat is dry. He slugs a large mouthful of beer and grunts in Madan's general direction pretending to agree with a point about the cowardice of elected officials.

It can't be that simple. This can't be the explanation. All of that work, the bugs the monitoring and the only thing the bastard is doing is having a bit on the side? He doesn't want to believe it but his treacherous brain reminds him that he hasn't heard from the Nulls in weeks. Maybe they know this mission is a dead-end. Maybe they're just leaving him here to keep him out of the way. Gregor raises his glass, feeling the scowl twisting his face and not caring if it seems appropriate to Mardan's ongoing monologue. The glass is, he's disappointed to notice, empty.

"Should have taken Kai up on that offer when he made it." Madan teases.

Gregor frowns.

"Sorry I didn't. I'll get my own." He snaps. Madan's face goes straight.

"No need, look, here's a waiter." He waves at the crowd and, sure enough, a Bim in a striped waistcoat appears at the table.

"'Nother round gentlemen?" He murmurs, grabbing their glasses before they can answer.

"Er..." Gregor mutters.

"House ale. On my tab, Madan. Auxal Madan." Madan says smoothly. The Bim shuffles deferentially then walks rapidly toward the bar.

"You alright Gregor?" Kai's suddenly back from a long sojourn elsewhere in the place and sits down across from him. Gregor realizes he's frowning.

"No. It's nothing." He mutters.

"Mads going on about politics again was he? Depressing stuff." Kai says.

"Not half as depressing as you." Retorts Madan. Kai rolls his eyes.

Gregor watches them morosely. The Bim returns with he and Madan's refreshed drinks. Gregor's grateful for the distraction. He takes a long pull on his glass, eyeing the Correllian Restaurant again. Fehrt and his piece of strange are still inside. Probably feeding each other noodles or something equally revolting and soppy. He realizes Kai's talking to him.

"Sorry, what?"

Kai frowns. Madan chuckles.

"It's not completely bleak friend. Buck up." He says, slapping Gregor lightly on the shoulder.

There's nothing to say back so he waits for Kai to repeat himself or Madan to continue. Kai looks abashed for some reason. Madan glances at the other man.

"Next time." He murmurs. Gregor's not sure what he means by that. But Madan's talking again.

"Look if you're free at week's end come by the Raks. We'd love to have you."

"I don't know where that is."

"You know where the Royal Inn is?"

Gregor thinks for a moment.

"The diner off of Duchess?"

"That's the one. How about I tell Crent to meet you there? He lives close by and he can bring you around."

Gregor almost says yes. It's probably nothing useful, just more griping but it is interesting that Madan and Kai and Crent all seem to be involved. Then he remembers something.

"Can't this time. Sorry."

"Why not?" Asks Madan, sounding petulant. Kai smirks. Gregor wonders what their deal is.

"My gir-wife. She's working at the head office. There's some...thing she's got to go to at the end of this work week. I told her I'd go with her."

"Oh." Says Madan, dejected.

"That sounds..." says Kai, clearly at a loss. Gregor shrugs.

"I can't let her go on her own. Who knows what those money-types might do to her." He'd meant it as a joke but it takes a moment for Madan to laugh. Kai only smiles darkly and says:

"Too true."

This is all definitely odd but Gregor can't think about that now. Fehrt is standing up way back in the Restaurant. He's helping the red-head up. Apparently this was a more of a drinks run than a dinner. They're leaving. It's stupid to follow them. They're probably off to a hotel or something sordid like that but he can't just give up on more than two week's work. There's more to Fehrt than just a man having in an affair, Gregor knows it deep in his bones.

"I'll come to the next one." He breaks in quickly, eyes still half on the activity across the street.

"You will?" Asks Madan, sounding very pleased. Kai pouts like a school girl whose been passed over by the star athlete.

"Yeah, er... Just let me know when at Testing okay? I've, er, got to head out. Promised the wife I'd pick up some...grass grain."

It's a completely ridiculous, stupid excuse but Madan and Kai are so distracted by whatever rivalry they're acting through that they just nod and mutter goodbyes. Gregor drops enough coins to cover his drinks and a tip on the table, trusting them to pick it up when the tab comes. Then he's out the door, pulling his dark canvas jacket tight over his grey shirt to better blend in to the deep blue shadows of the street.

* * *

He expects them to take a car. But they leave the restaurant and walk, turning quickly onto a residential street that parallels the main shopping thoroughfare. Gregor follows them expertly, an six foot shadow that seems only a little more substantial than the ones around it. Fehrt tries to take the red-head's hand. She steps away quickly, without looking at him, clearly trying to seem like she didn't notice his advance. Fehrt sighs. Gregor catches the sound even five meters back concealed by an overgrown vine on and old house.

Fehrt puts his hand firmly on the woman's elbow and tries to turn her away from the older buildings, toward the skyscraping glass towers visible to the left, still dusky pink with the last light of the setting sun. The woman shakes her head and pulls away. She turns and walks deeper into the old quarter. The Head of Mer-Son Research and Development follows her meekly down two more streets and into an old attached house that's been converted into apartments. They climb the stairs. A light turns on briefly on the third floor, then goes out.

Gregor leans against a wall across the street and down the block. He's can only see the flat if he cranes his neck and peers through the trees that line the street. It's too obvious a thing to do so he just stands, carefully in the deepest shadow of the wall, and watches the front door stubbornly.

The light on the glass facades of the buildings to the north fades from dusty pink to violet to silvery grey and finally vanishes. Their internal lumos come on, fading the hard outlines of the framing until the windows seem to float in the night. A few speeders swish quietly past where he stands. He keeps well back. Their lights don't even lap his boots. The air grows colder.

His com buzzes once. It's Thena, the private signal they worked out. She's wondering where he is. He sends a message back, pressing buttons with his thumb, eyes still on the front door of the old house. It's only two, quick blips of sound; it means wait. He'll explain when he gets back. She'll understand.

The sky's gone from a rich, ink blue to tattered black with a pinkish haze cast across it, a spectral reflection of the city's illumination. No speeders have passed by for more than an hour. Gregor keeps his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket; the collar turned up in an attempt to cover more of his skin for warmth. Gradually the lights in the surrounding houses start to go out. First the ones in the front of the buildings as the occupants head for beds or more private rooms in the rear then those too, one by one. The street's now lit only by the pools of light thrown by the old fashioned looking street lumos that cleverly flicker as though they're still powered by gaseous tibana.

It's very late. Gregor doesn't want to risk his position by checking the chrono on his com but he guesses it's almost thirteenth hour, mid-night here on Krivella. Wouldn't it be perfect if something were to happen now? A strange visitor arrive at Fehrt's love nest, one of the lovers to leave; something. Anything. But there's nothing, just the cold, empty night. High above some of the stronger stars shine out from the sky that's now much blacker.

More time slips past. The night's gone still, so much so that the drone from the automated manufacturing plants more than ten kilometers away is clearly audible. Gregor's eyes are heavy, his feet ache with cold and he on the verge of admitting defeat. He barely manages to fight off the tempting image of Thena curled warm in their bed waiting for him. But the bitter recalcitrance that made him follow Fehrt and the woman in the first place stops him. Ten more minutes, he promises himself. If nothing happens by then I'll leave.

Three minutes pass and the front door opens. The red-head steps onto the street, buttoning the collar of her shirt, Fehrt's shirt if Gregor isn't mistaken. His heart soars. There's a packet of flimsi in a brown folder tucked under her arm that she definitely didn't come in with. All thoughts of warm beds are vaporized by the adrenaline surging into Gregor's brain. He grins ferally. The red-head looks up and down the street. Gregor hold perfectly still, a shadow again. She doesn't see him and hurries down the steps, arms wrapped around herself, clearly chilled. Gregor follows.

She walks away from the house, heading west, out of the old quarter. She crosses the unofficial border into the newer parts of the city at Gehnnet Street; the main road now eerily silent and continues. She never once looks behind her but walks fast, head down, shoulders tight against the cold. She's heading for the large park, the one that he passed over as a dead drop location because it was too full of people. It isn't full now. The red-head pauses at the entrance and looks around her again. Gregor's concealed just inside the park itself, having guessed her destination and climbed the high iron fence before she got here.

He lets her get several paces ahead of him again before he moves after her, keeping off the gravel paths. He has to hang further back from her now, there are fewer places to hide; long stretches of meadow and play areas that he'd be clearly visible crossing. Instead he uses the hush of the night to his advantage, following the soft crunch of her feet on the raked gravel. She's heading for the rear of the park where there's a sort of ornamental woodland and lake. It's the kind of spot young couples sneak off to in hopes of some privacy. Gregor follows her closer now, the trees concealing him easily.

There's a bench just off the path that the red-head is walking towards with a purpose. Gregor stops, three meters into the trees. The red-head bends down and tucks the papers under the bench. She does not look around her but straightens quickly, turns and goes back the way she's come. She's walking more slowly now, clearly trying to seem casual, normal, even though someone alone in a park in the middle of the night is hardly a normal occurrence. Gregor creeps after her long enough to assure himself that she's not going anywhere else tonight. When she re-crosses Gehnnet he turns back toward the park.

Her contact is going to have to come by before morning. There'll be early exercise enthusiast out as soon as it's a little light. He's tired but he can wait longer; the rest of the night if necessary. He can swing by the apartment for his clean uniform and some stims before his shift. He slips back into the trees, making sure he's got a good sightline on the bench and crouches against the thick trunk of one of them to wait.

There's no sound of the city here in the trees, the vegetation swallows it up. The wind rustles the last of the leaves high up in the branches. It'd be a soothing sound if Gregor weren't so keyed up. It's also colder here under the canopy, or maybe it's just damp. Even mostly bare of leaves the undergrowth holds onto moisture; the air growing misty as the dawn creeps closer. Still, Gregor waits, immobile but alert like the predator he was bred to be.

There's a soft sound drifting in from further into the little woodland, towards the lake. Someone's walking down the path. They're doing it carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible but Gregor hears. The light's gone a slatey blue-grey that heralds dawn. Coupled with the patchy mist visibility is less than ideal. But Gregor sees the figure stealing down the path toward the bench easily. It's another female, human or near to it. She's tall, average build, brunette or black hair pulled into a long tail at the back of her head. It's the most distinctive thing he can make out about her. He her skin is dark, a little darker than his he thinks but he can only see a sliver of it between the high collar of her coat and her hair.

She crouches down and takes the folder from under the bench, eyes searching the mist for movement. Gregor resists the urge to spring out of the bushes and arrest her. Better to follow her back to destination, see what she's up to, get an inkling of her network if there is one. He waits. The woman turns and walks out of the woods toward the main gate. Gregor lets her get almost lost in the mist before standing. His joints are stiff with cold and damp but he ignores the ache and stalks his quarry.

She leaves the park by the same gate the red-head had entered. He sticks as close behind her as he dares. She reaches Gehnnet street and turns the opposite direction as her contact. North, away from the old quarter and toward the larger shopping district, the one locals frequent to buy everyday goods and groceries.

It's opening up time for many of those shops, time for deliveries and preparations in anticipation of early shoppers. There are a number of people on the streets here, all going about their jobs with a single minded intensity; making it easier to get closer to the woman.

He still can't make out details other than the hair. Her back is to him and she's moving fast. It's slightly challenging to keep up, he keeps having to dodge trolleys laden with bread dough or produce. People stand in the street and haggle over deliveries without a thought as to what or who needs to get by them. But he's a professional, he can't be shaken of that easily.

Suddenly the woman trips; right in front of a Gan pushing an overloaded cart of meat and fish. The Gan sees the woman go down in front of him, screeches and stops short. A man pushing a rack of coats collides with him, sending several of the fish flying. Immediately a fight breaks out, the noise and confusion increasing rapidly with the shouts of other shop keepers and delivery people inconvenienced by the traffic jam. The woman is being helped to a stoop by a young man. She leans heavily on him, rubbing at her knee and pulls out her com. Within a minute Gregor hears sirens as the medical services emerge from a nearby dispatching station.

He fades into the crowd, pausing to snap a pict of the woman with his com unit. There's no way he can hang around long enough for this to clear up. He'll have to check the database of Kirvella registered residents after his shift and be content with that. As he jogs the three miles or so back to the apartment he wonders if the woman knew he was tailing her; wonders if she tripped on purpose. If so he's dealing with someone much cleverer than Fehrt or his mistress. The thought gives him a frisson of excitement; finally a challenge.

* * *

By the time he gets back to the building the cool of the night is gone. Between the overflow of adrenaline and the exercise he's sweating freely. Mrs. Lenko is out on her patio smoking when he runs up. She arches an eyebrow at him.

"I'll be polite and not ask." She answers tartly. Gregor blinks at her and then realizes what she's implying. He feels his face go even hotter.

"It's not that."

Mrs. Lenko nods dubiously.

"Just remind her not to throw anything that will damage my walls please." She adds as he heads for the stairs.

The sweat under his arms and down his spine increases disproportionally as he climbs the two flights of stairs to his place. Thena won't be angry. She knows why he was out. Mrs. Lenko's just being grouchy. He works hard to convince himself of those facts as he slots the key card into the lock.

The place is quiet. Nothing's broken, the dishes are all washed and laid out next to the sink to dry. He pulls off his boots and jacket before skulking down the hall. The bedroom door is closed. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants before pressing the release. It slides back to reveal the room in its usual state of half disarray. Thena's clothes hang haphazardly on any level surface while his are in knife-straight order in the open wardrobe. He can make out a shape under the covers on the side of the bed nearest the door, the side he usually sleeps on. She's hanging onto a pillow as well, his pillow. He grins. Mrs. Lenko, ever the pessimist it seems, is totally wrong. Still, he resists the urge to climb into bed for the hour or so left before he has to get up. He wants to get this report done while the information's fresh. He slips out and into the office.

He leaves the door open as he punches the codes into the secure fixed com unit.

"Three-Nine. Null Grey. Null Grey respond."

He waits a minute, counting the seconds. No response comes back.

"Three-Nine. Null Black. Null Black respond."

"Three-Nine this is Null Blue responding."

"Null Blue?"

"N-7, shiny."

"Confirm. Do you have a secure visual link Blue?"

"Suspicious. Good boy. Secure link live in two minutes."

"Gregor?"

He turns. Thena's standing in the door way, hair a mess, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey _Ten'ika_. I was working."

She nods and saunters towards him. She's wearing an singlet of hers, almost transparent with age, and panties. He nervously checks the visual link. They've still got a minute and a half so he doesn't say anything.

" You'd better have been." She grouses as she gets close enough to lean in for a kiss. He guesses that means she's not actually angry.

"Mrs. Lenko said you were going to chuck things at me."

"Yeah. I might have had to tell her a story about how angry I am with your drinking when she came sniffing around. Nosy fynock."

"She's not so bad."

"Not to you."

He rubs the exposed skin just above her pelvis absently, thinking.

"_Ten'ika_?"

"Hmm?" She's leaning sleepily into him.

"I tailed Fehrt last night."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He's seeing some red-headed woman on the side, tall, er...curvy. Do you know her?"

"That's all I have to go on?"

He shrugs and nods

"No then."

"Okay. How about her?"

He pulls up the pict of the dark haired woman who picked up the information from the drop. Thena squints at it.

"She looks kind of familiar but I can't tell. You want me to check company records?"

"Can you?"

"Sure."

The fixed com beeps once as it starts transmitting.

"Three-Nine, this is Null Blue. Secure visual established. Well hello there."

Gregor's head snaps around to see a Null, one he's unfamiliar with but definitely a Null ARC, on the vid screen. He's leering playfully at Thena.

"I appreciate your hospitality _ner vod._ That's a nice thing to see first thing in the morning."

Gregor feels a growl deep in his chest. Thena stands up straight, brushes her hair off her face and sets a hand on her cocked hip.

"Which one are you? Wait, never mind. I don't care." She snaps.

Mereel chuckles.

"Jaing said you were feisty. I see why you keep her around Gregor."

"Thena Kuora is an asset to this mission." Gregor grinds out between clenched teeth.

"I'll say."

"_Kriff _off." Thena snaps. Then she looks at Gregor. "I assume you two have useful things to discuss. And take a shower before you go in today. You stink."

Gregor winces at her tone but doesn't say anything. It's not the time, especially in front of Mereel.

"Hey don't be mad." The Null cracks as she leaves. "Or at least don't be mad at me. I smell fresh as a daisy, promise."

Thena makes a decisively obscene gesture over her shoulder and slides the door shut behind her.

"Very nice." Mereel purrs, all exaggerated lechery.

"_Kriff_ off, like the lady said." Snaps Gregor. Mereel grins for a few seconds more before schooling his features into something slightly more serious.

"Yeah, the lady also said you had useful intel. So spit it out. I haven't got all morning to laze about."

Gregor bites back his own desire to snap at Mereel. Taking a deep breath he outlines the events of the night before. Mereel nods as he finishes.

"Confirmation. Good. Follow up. Find out who those women are and if the Head's knowingly involved."

Mereel reaches forward, about to sign off. Gregor can't hold back anymore.

"Where's Prudii? I've been out of contact for two weeks."

Mereel pauses, eyeing him; unreadable.

"Prudii's busy. So's Jaing. I was on the coms, I got your message. You have a problem dealing with me?"

"No but-"

"_Vod'ika_ there's a war on if you hadn't noticed. You deal with whichever of us is around. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Now get back to work. And give that girl a pinch for me."

Gregor surges out of the chair with a snarl as though he could actually reach through the screen for the other clone. But the connection's broken before he's even on his feet. His anger pulses behind his eyes; the beginning of a headache. He's not sure what's pissing him off more, the way Mereel acted about Thena or the flippant brush off of the lack of contact. He's too tired to sort it all out. He can hear Thena slamming cupboards in the kitchen and hopes she doesn't accidentally break the caf brewer. He digs a stim sharp out of a pouch next to the monitor and jabs his thigh. He's got to be careful not to get too reliant on the drugs to keep him going but today is going to be rough anyway. He'll deal with the inevitable crash tonight. One thing at a time he reasons as he stumbles toward the shower. One thing at a time.

* * *

Our Null cameo this time is Mereel! Being a disgusting lech! Poor Gregor, feeling abandoned by his brethren, is vindicated at last. Women of mystery and spying! And what are Madan and Kai up to anyway?

Next Time: I promised you fancy dress intrigues and you shall have them dear readers. I will do my utmost to describe Gregor in formal wear for your (okay mostly mine) fevered imaginations. Think of it as a Halloween present. There will also be more plot thickening. Also, I believe a bonus scene is in order because what's a fancy dress ball without friskiness after?

Many thanks for reading as always, especially given the brief hiatus. Let me know what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9, fancy dress and all. It's a bit more film noir-ish than I intended but I don't think that's all bad.

Please read and enjoy

Disclaimer: See Ch1

* * *

Gregor peers at the small screen of the pad for the third time in ten minutes. He's usually better about finding his way around, even in unfamiliar territory. Scratch that he's usually flawless at finding his way around because he's already mapped out everything he needs to know ahead of time. But he's been lax on the prep.

It's because he's been busy hunting though personnel records and resident registrations for the past couple of days. And Thena's been busy with the final preparations for whatever this shindig is. He hadn't realized how much he's come to rely on her to help set his routine until she hasn't been coming home until late at night. He'll just keep working without her; come home, walk into the office, forget to eat, forget to change clothes and time will get away from him. It's not a series of excuses, it isn't. It's reasons he tells the disgusted voice in his head that can't believe he's gone and gotten lost.

He can't help but be distracted though, nothing's making sense. The red-head was fairly easily found. She used to be Fehrt's assistant. It was enough of a cliché that even Gregor caught it and had to groan inwardly. Thena's response had been a cocked eyebrow and a question.

"Are you sure someone who's this stupid is capable of stealing industrial secrets and not getting caught?"

Truthfully he wasn't. Fehrt had clearly gotten his high position with R&D based on something other than brains. He plainly doesn't give a hang about security, Gregor's hacked his net accounts easily over the past few days. It was probably an easy enough feat for the woman to pull schematics or other necessary documents off of Fhert's pad. Gregor was more than willing to bet that the man took all sorts of useful things home with him and had minimal security on his devices. How a careless fool like that ended up the Head of R&D for a place like Mer-Son was beyond him. The man must have the greatest connections in the galaxy.

If Fhert was an idiot and the red-head was an obvious honey trap the dark haired woman was clearly some kind of pro. She was a complete ghost, no residency record, no employer files, nothing. Thena still thought she looked familiar and had begun to comb through the older, flimsi stored records at HQ when she had time but she hadn't gotten far in two days. Then there was the question of Fehrt's calls to the private apartment in the same building. Was it just a way to get in contact with the red-head? If so why had they gone to the house in the old quarter two nights ago? Was the dark haired woman using it? The records for the residences were proving significantly harder to crack than those of Mer-Son. It was suspicious and driving him slightly crazy.

Gregor notes that the clump of tree's he's passing looks familiar, stops and swears. They are familiar. Because he's passed them before. He's going to circles looking for this _shabla_ speeder rental place that Thena's got a discount for thanks to Arricnak. She's given him directions but they make no sense to him and seem to relate to a set of streets possibly in a totally different city. Why the hell she couldn't pick up the speeder...He quashes the thought. She couldn't pick up the speeder because she's taking care of getting them clothing for the evening. She gave him a choice of jobs last night and he picked this one because he knows his own strengths and selecting formal wear is not on that list. And they need to rent a speeder because the buses don't run to the swanky casino this thing is being held in. Also arriving to an event like this by public transportation, were that even a possibility, is totally beyond the pale apparently.

That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it right now. He glares at the pad, looks up, sees nothing relating to the directions as printed and finally gives up. He turns and stalks into a caf shop. The girl behind the counter looks up at him with a vapid grin.

"Hello-can-I-get-you-today?"

"Er, Gannex Rentals?" He asks. She blinks vaguely and he wonders for a second if she's really some kind of cyborg. Then her eyes focus.

"Oh, it's two doors down, across the street. Lot's in the back."

"Oh. Thanks miss."

"No problem. People ask all the time. Have-a-nice-day." And then she's back to smiling blankly into the middle distance. Gregor backs out of the shop feeling like a moron. When he steps into the lobby of the shop two doors down he feels even worse. The lot's clearly visibly through the large plate-plaz window. He should have seen it. Then and there Gregor swears off stims, just caf from now on, his edge is slipping and that is a bad, bad thing.

"Can I help you son?" Asks a tall Rodian with a nice beer-gut.

"I'm picking up a speeder. Reserved under Tahy?" The Rodian pecks at the keys of his processor.

"Oh, yes. Right here. Could you sign please?"

More flimsi forms appear. Gregor scrawls something that doesn't look like his name. The Rodian produces a portable pad.

"And this one too please." Gregor looks at him.

"We need the flimsi for Kirvellan taxes. The government requires hard copies of everything. New policy as of last year."

Gregor scribbles on the pad.

"That seems kind of odd." He comments. It's probably not important but he is curious about all the non-digitized records.

"Sure is. Mer-Son's idea I think. They own everything and make the policy. Apparently they wanted to revert to the flimsi."

"I suppose." He says. So it is nothing.

"I'll tell you it makes working with some of the non-humans difficult. They don't really write do they, or have much ability to hold a pen and a lot of them still remember the old style flimsi tests from elsewhere."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, never mind. I'm rambling. Your car's in the third aisle. D'you want me to have it brought around."

"Please."

"Just one moment."

The Rodian buzzes up a droid and then vanishes into the back room. Gregor waits, considering what he's said. He's not good with Galactic History in general. He learns what he needs to know and doesn't worry about the gaps. But having Thena around has made him much more interested in human vs. non-human politics. He makes a mental note to ask her about 'flimsi tests' when he gets the chance.

The droid drops the speeder straight down in front of the shop with mechanical precision, as to be expected. Gregor stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks out, trying not to look shocked at the luxury of the vehicle. No wonder Thena needed the discount to rent from here. The place he's been using maybe has _pictures_ of speeders like this one, on calendars with scantily clad females draped over them. The door glides open with a well-engineered purr at the push of a button. The seats are real, honest to Force, Bantha hide in a buttery tan shade that's actually mouthwatering. He slides the engine into gear and almost purrs himself at the smooth power of the prime engine under this thing. He grins as he pulls into traffic and cruises home. There's a back seat that looks like it could comfortably fit about five people and Thena is going to flip out over this thing when he brings it home. The night is looking up.

* * *

He beats Thena back to the apartment and claims the first shower. It seems ominous to him that it's taking her so long to secure two sets of clothing. He even coms her to check up before bathing. Her response is a cryptic 'these things take time.' He rolls his eyes, drops the com on the sink and steps into the shower, tempted to take more than five minutes out of spite; leaving Thena with less than fifteen minutes of hot water. He doesn't do it, because she's already nervous about tonight and he doesn't want to explain to the party patrons that his fresh stab wound was mostly justified.

He hears the entrance door slide open just as he's finishing trimming his beard. He hastily runs the water in the sink to wash the errant hair out and goes to see what kind of clothes take seven hours to acquire. Thena is carefully draping two long, opaque plaz bags over the back of the sofa. He walks up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the back of her neck.

"Did you see the speeder we got?"

"Alphos 6Z7, new last year, full dual drive model. Electrum coil power feed with carbolite insulation, minimal loss of energy to heat in the transfer."

"I love it when you talk about engines." He whispers against the little hump of bone right where her spine joins her shoulders. She snorts.

"Even if you only understand half of it." He chuckles and licks at her slightly sweaty skin.

"I have my talents, you have yours." She shivers but steps away from him. He stops the disappointed sound in his throat.

"Well I hope tying a tie is among those because we are running late." She grouses, marching toward the fresher.

"Late? It's not for three hours."

"Some of us can't just run our hands through our hair and look perfect and sexy." She growls. He grins at the compliment, even if it is a little backhanded.

"Don't worry about me _Ten'ika_ I had to wear a mess uniform a couple of times. This'll be easy."

"I hope so." He hears her mutter as she triggers the fresher door

The suit she's picked out is nice, a deep blue that's almost black with a crisp white shirt and black tie that cinches up just below his chin. Even taking extra time to polish his boots to a mirror shine, he's refused to get a set of the slick soled dress shoes, he's dressed and ready in less than thirty minutes. He kills another half hour double checking all of his small, easily concealed weapons. He smiles to himself as he tucks a ridiculously shiny little blaster into his boot. Jaing refers to it as the 'go to worship' gun. Whether because it's so fancy or it packs a fatally nasty wallop he never clarified.

Thena's not even out of the fresher by then, though he can't hear the shower running anymore. He sits and waits, leafing through a dossier of the probable attendees that he and Thena had assembled. It's dull and his nerves about the coming evening start to resurface; all those rich powerful people who'll see his face and maybe remember it once this is over and he's back in armor. Do rich industrialists know how to contract revenge killings? Probably, or they have staff that does. He frowns sternly and refuses to think more about that possibility. He considers watching something on the holonet. There's probably a bollo-ball game on but he can't be bothered.

Thena finally emerges carefully made up with her hair curled and tease up into a dark swirl of waves that stop just belw her chin. He stares, not wanting to touch and muss her up. She's wearing almost nothing, just a sheer, lacy undergarment across her hips that's so brief it might as well not be there. She's got on long stockings that cling to the tops of her thighs as if by magic and that's it. She smiles at him in that nervous way he hasn't seen since Abafar. Then she snatches up the second bag and is gone into the bedroom before he can speak.

Surprisingly she he puts the dress on in less time than it took him to remember the trick of his tie. It's breathtaking, white and filmy like it's been spun from layers and layers of morning fog; shimmery and long with very appropriate sleeves that billow out a little around her arms before coming down to tight silver cuffs over her wrists. The neck is low, showing a modest swell of her flesh, but not risqué. She looks younger somehow; distressingly innocent even with her tousled hair and carefully painted eyes.

"What?" She asks, alarm clear in her eyes. "Why are you frowning at me? Is it wrong? Too much cleavage? Not enough?"

"No, no you have exactly the right amount of...cleavage it's just...you look so..."

"So what? Gregor come on, I can't do this if you start acting weird."

"I don't know. Wait. I have an idea."

He dashes past her to the bedroom. Whatever perfume she's wearing, flowers and wood and the smoky, sweet smell that's just her naturally follows him. He digs through her piles of blouses until he finds what he wants. As he turns to leave something on her side of the bed catches his eye. He grabs that too and hurries back. She's standing exactly where she was before looking beautiful and lost and heartbreaking. He folds the blue-green scarf over itself three times until it's a little less than his hand span across, then leans down and wraps it around her waist like a sash, knotting it and tucking the ends in securely. He leans back to look at it. She does the same, bending her head down and forward. He finds himself looking more at the soft part of her hair than her dress and can't help but kiss it.

"Blech!" He sputters. She straightens, laughing.

"Sorry Gregor, hair lacquer."

"I should have guessed." He mumbles, wishing for a sip of water to wash the chemical sting from his mouth.

"It's not your fault. I'm enchanting." She coos, rubbing the sash gently. "Neat trick by the way."

"Yeah, mess uniforms come with sashes, well the officers' ones do. It's harder to learn than the tie."

"Oh." She says softly. Her black eyes are very warm. So is the air around them all of a sudden. He swallows hard, twice before clearing his throat.

"One more thing."

He drops to his knees in front of her, reaching first for the item from next to the bed and then under the cloudy layers of her skirt. He takes longer than is strictly necessary; enjoying the thin, smooth stockings over the long, thick muscles of her legs. He hikes the skirt up to her hips, higher than he necessary again but she doesn't seem to mind. He grins up at her as he straps the black bladed knife just above the lacy top of her left stocking. She smiles back.

"For old time's sake." He says, a little breathlessly. She smells warm and inviting, the flower scent smoothed out with the tang of her skin.

"Expecting trouble?" She asks. He's gratified to note she sounds almost out of breath.

"Always." He answers and kisses her mons, just above the top of her slit, taking a moment to enjoy the give of her flesh and the way the hair holds her smell as well as her happy gasp. He pulls back, dropping the material and smoothing it down before he goes too far. Standing he grins down at her and offers his elbow in his very best impression of a fancy gentleman from old vids.

"Shall we?" He asks in his plumiest accent.

She smirks, sketches a curtsey and loops her arm through his.

* * *

The Rechmet Casino is stunning; dizzy with refracted lights from crystal fixtures, polished stone floors in every color imaginable and dozens of Kirvella's great and good in finery of even more elaborate hues. It's also hot even with the rows of doors to the Casino's grounds standing open to let in the night air. And this was only the beginning. The Century Celebration is to go on for months, culminating in a massive party on the anniversary of Mer-Son's founding in late winter. That party, so Thena tells him, is to be at least ten times the size of this one. The very idea of having to be trapped in a huge, overheated room with even two times this many people has Gregor hoping very fervently that this mission is wrapped up before then.

A band played in the far corner of the vast ballroom; ten musicians, two Bims a Rodian and seven Bothans. One of the Twi'lek waiters drifts by him with a plate of finger foods impaled on little sticks. Gregor waves him down and grabs three, ignoring the smirk he gets. There's no actual dinner at this interminable thing, just trays of jawa sized food stuff and bubbly alcohol. He's awkward, unable to dance or converse easily with the glittering hordes. But then they don't seem terribly inclined to talk to him already. They probably look at him as an interloper, a bizarre artifact of the people who made them their money.

Gregor sneers at himself as he gulps down the last meat wrapped, cheese stuff fruit things. He's starting to sound like Herrox. There's nothing like being treated like mud on the shoe of the powerful to fan class hatred apparently. Truthfully, he's bored and thinks this might have been a waste of time. Fhert's in attendance of course but accompanied by the tight skinned, bleached haired Mrs. Fehrt. They've hardly spoken to each other all night but they stay close together, smiling automatically whenever someone comes up to them. It's all perfectly choreographed and unlikely to yield anything useful.

He wishes Thena would come back so they can concoct a plan to leave. But she's being treated to all of the attention he's not getting. Arricnak snatched her immediately and has been introducing her to his old friends. Thena for her part is being charming, or at least everyone she's spoken with seems charmed by her. She being constantly dragged out onto the cleared dance floor by one vice president of this or head of another. Gregor doesn't mind, they're all old enough to be her grandfather and the fact they're too interested in to really talk at him leaves him free to observe. Mostly though he's been observing Thena for the past twenty minutes as she attempts a sort of hoping dance with the head of marketing that was probably in vogue a decade before she was born. She looks lovely, a sort of floating contrast in pale and shadow with one streak of color around her waist grounding her, his streak of color.

"Hello. I don't believe we've met." Says a soft, feminine voice from behind him. Gregor starts, a bit embarrassed that he's been snuck up on so easily and turns. For a moment he almost panics, almost goes full commando in his fine suit. It's the woman from the park, the dark haired one he tailed.

"Er, no. Um, I'm...Gregor." She smiles charmingly, her teeth very white against her smooth, dark skin. He regrets giving her even that much information.

"What are you doing here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'm sorry?" She laughs, her voice high pitched and girlish.

"No, no I didn't mean it like that. You just don't seem...old enough to be on your own here." His brain runs through a callisthenic work out of possible meanings, is she referring to his clone age, is this just innocent flirting, does she know? He finally manages.

"I came as a...plus one."

She raises a pretty eyebrow and pointedly scans some of the matrons lurching across the dance floor. Gregor feels himself flush at the implication.

"I...you didn't tell me your name." He sputters just as the music stops. 'Name' comes out very loudly in the silence. The woman smiles.

"Parmenna Luushot." She extends a well-manicured hand. Gregor looks at it for a moment before shaking it.

"Good Evening Miss." Comes Thena's annoyed voice from his right. She's clearly escaped the dance floor and is striding over, looking angry. Parmenna smiles again.

"Your host?" She asks playfully. Gregor drops her hand.

"Yes. My wife." Thena cruises to a stop next to him and he takes a moment to slip and arm around her waist. Parmenna's smile is fixed.

"I was just chatting with you husband, he seems to be about the only man under sixty here. I was curious about the novelty."

"Indeed." Says Thena, all chilly good manners. Parmenna furls her brow.

"Please don't think I'm being rude but have we met?" She asks Thena.

"I was wondering myself."

"Ah, Parmenna, you've come. So glad." Arricnak arrives from the same direction as Thena, flushed from either drink or exertion.

"Thena my dear, have you met Ms. Luushot? She's with BlasTech I'm afraid but we're trying to bring her over to our side."

"Oh, yes. You've come by the office." Thena says slowly, remembering. Parmenna smiles her pretty smile again and laughs like a bell.

"I shamelessly use Petrus as a way to get a fine lunch. I'll admit." Behind them the band picks up a new tune, a little slower. Gregor takes Thena's elbow.

"I think I'd like a dance myself." He murmurs, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face doesn't look as false as it feels. Thena follows him back onto the floor with uncharacteristic meekness. He catches a glimpse of Arricnak bowing to Parmenna. She accepts his hand and slinks onto the floor with him.

"That's her." He whispers as they start to sway. "The woman I followed from the drop."

"I know. BlasTech, I knew she looked familiar. She's been in to see Arricnak about five times."

"Is he really trying to recruit her?"

"I think so. I mean I can't imagine why else she'd come up."

"Does she talk to Fehrt?"

"Not that I remember. I don't even think he's been in the office when she comes by."

"Wait." He murmurs and almost stops moving.

Thena drags him into a slow, bobbing circle that lets him keep watching the sudden development with Fehrt and his wife. They're clearly arguing and just as clearly trying to hide it. They stand by the wall farthest from the doors, heads bent close. Mrs. Fehrt is motioning furtively and frowning. It pulls all of her meticulous facial work into disarray. Fehrt himself is ramrod straight and glaring at his shoes. Suddenly he walks away from his wife, leaving her standing alone, face contorted in rage.

"What?" Thena hisses.

"Fehrt's on the move." He whispers back.

"But the BlasTech woman's still here."

"What? Kriff."

He's at a loss as he watches Fehrt start to make his way through the crowd toward the door. Smiling and shaking hands. But Thena's right; Parmenna is still on the dance floor with Arricnak.

"Have you got any ideas? Do we split up or something?" Thena murmurs.

"No, _shab_, I'm and idiot. It might work but usually…Ow."

She's pinched his ribs.

"What might work? Use full sentences please."

"Oh, I've got these slugs with, some kind of nano dust that can be used to track people temporarily. It's a bunch of tiny droids that transmit a target's location back to, well us in this case."

"So why don't we use it?"

"Generally it has to be fired out of a slug launcher, thus the, er, slugs."

"What if it came out of the slugs? Would it still work if it were just, say, sprinkled on someone?"

"It might not be as accurate."

"Give me one."

"One what?"

"Slug. I have an idea."

"Thena I've only got three."

"Well I only need one. Hand it over."

The music's winding down. There's very little time, Fehrt's less than ten meters from the exit. He sighs and fumbles under his jacket. The slug thrower is awkward at this angle and he hopes he doesn't accidentally discharge it. Finally he gets the chamber open and palms a bullet to Thena. The music ends. Everyone begins to clap. Fehrt's eight meters from the exit. Thena isn't clapping but carefully separating the casing from the firing base.

"You follow Fehrt. He's got to get the valet to pull his car around. Make sure you're next in line behind him." She says out of the side of her mouth.

"And where will you be?"

"Saying our goodbyes." She tells him with a grin. "Now move soldier."

He watches her walk resolutely toward Arricnak and shakes his head, turning to follow the fast retreating Fehrt.

* * *

It's probably not going to work. It's a ridiculous idea but she's got to try or this whole evening is potentially wasted. She walks up to Arricnak.

"Petrus. I'm so sorry but Gregor and I have to head home. He's got a call to make…to his father. Once a week, it's very important to him."

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear. Are you sure you couldn't stay?"

"No, I'm sorry but he really doesn't miss it."

"Well just one moment. Darling!"

He waves Mrs. Arricnak over and explains the situation. She goes through the same song and dance and Thena's starting to feel just a little bit guilty about her lie. Luckily Parmenna is standing right there and is making sympathetic faces and showing no signs of leaving. At last Mrs. Arricnak steps forward to hung Thena and give her the traditional Kirvellan kiss on each cheek. Thena would usually be uncomfortable but fakes her way through. Before Parmenna can step away Thena turns and steps forward to embrace her. As she kisses her cheeks she offers a silent prayer to the Universe that this works and carefully upends the casing behind Parmenna's back.

The nanodoirds, thank the Force are transparent so no pale streaks mar the black and white striped lace of the woman's dress. She doesn't seem to notice them trickling down her back either. Smiling now, Thena steps back and even lets Arricnak go through the traditional Kirvellan male good-bye of kissing her hand. She promises to stay longer next time and all but runs out the doors to the valet area.

Fehrt is still waiting for his car, hoping uncomfortably from foot to foot whether from cold or impatience it's impossible to say. She glides up to Gregor and grabs his elbow.

"All done."

"What'd you do?"

"I'll tell you in the speeder. Have you gotten Fehrt?"

"No, too windy. We're going to have to tail him the old fashioned way. In the speeder."

The valet pulls up with Fehrt's ostentations yellow sport speeder. Fortunately a second valet pulls their rental up moments later. Gregor tosses him what is probably a too generous tip judging by the kid's grin but there's no time to say anything. He bundles her into the passenger side and has the engine started before she's fully into her safety restraint. They pull into the light night time traffic two vehicles behind Fehrt.

Gregor's intensely focused, so she doesn't tell him about her cunning with Parmenna and the nanodust, though she can't help smiling to herself. They weave in and out of traffic changing the number of cars between them and Fehrt seemingly at random; sometimes they're right behind him, sometimes she can only just make out the speeder. It doesn't take long for Thena to realize where he's going.

"He's going back to the office?"

Gregor grins.

"No, no I think we're about to find out a little more about the mysterious flat on the ninetieth floor."

"Oh," she'd forgotten about that.

Gregor pulls around Fehrt as he signals his turn into the private garage next to the building.

"Thena is there a private entrance in there?"

"I don't think so."

"You sure?"

She bites her lip.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay." He pulls the car around the edge of the plaza and parks it in a deep shadow.

"You get over here and keep the engine on. I'm going to set up a shot with this," he holds up the slug thrower for emphasis, "in the plaza, the buildings should block the wind. Once I've done it though it's smart for us to be out of here sharpish. Can you do that?"

"Of course."

He smiles at her now and leans over to kiss her hard on the mouth.

"See you in five."

She loses sight of the dark blue suit almost immediately and lets herself be impressed, as though her choice of the color had been intentional. The speeder's a trip and a half, purrs like a kitten and runs like a kybuck. Atmosphere limited vehicles aren't usually her thing but this machine is a beauty. Thena lets herself admire the interior and the specs of the engine in her memory a few moments longer, trying to distract herself from worrying about Gregor out there in the dark. She checks the clock. Gregor's been gone two minutes and she's already feeling antsy. She stares at digits shifting for the next two, though it seems to take an hour. Suddenly the passenger door pops open. She screams a little. Gregor gives her a concerned frown.

"Sorry," she mutters, "I was uh…let's go."

She turns back toward their apartment and drives a little faster than is probably wise. She's still nervous. Gregor's still grinning.

"You get him?" She asks.

"I surely did_ Ten'ika_. You get Parmenna?"

Yeah." She tells him what she'd done. He throws his head back as she finishes and laughs. It's a deep, warm sound that she's hardly ever heard from him.

"_Mirdala Ten'ika_, very clever."

"I probably got some on Arricnak too."

"No problem. We'll figure it out."

She almost regrets having to pull into the little alcove in front of their building. She turns off the engine and looks at him.

"Well, that was quite the night hmm?"

"It was."

"So, you got any…plans then soldier?" His smile gets hot.

"Maybe. Have you seen the back seat of this thing?"

She smirks.

"I might have."

"It's bigger than the couch."

"This dress is a rental. I don't want to mess it up."

"You know this model has new semi-opaque privacy screening available?"

"Semi-opaque?"

"It's pretty cool out. I don't think anyone'll be in the street…"

"Mrs. Lenko probably noticed us pulling up. Maybe she'll wonder why we haven't gone inside."

His eyes are practically glowing, his skin flushed. She can see his chest rising and falling quicker. This is interesting. Clone commando Gregor has him an exhibitionist streak. She really probably shouldn't encourage this kind of risk taking behavior.

"Well," she reaches for the side fastenings on her dress. "I guess I'm out of excuses."

* * *

I promise an upload with the interlude in a day or two. Please bear with me. I'm not in a good place to finish the scene right now. My elderly and much loved dog is dying. Thanks for being understanding again.


	10. Chapter 10

And the end begins! It's going to start getting real, quickly for poor old Gregor as the pieces start falling into place. Not this week though, this week is happy. (cuz I'm still bummed about my dog).

* * *

He's distracted, it's true; careless about the task at hand for probably the first time in his life. But there just seems not to be a point anymore. He has his quarry and most of the answers he needs. Fehrt's living on the ninetieth floor of the office tower in a sort of mid-life bachelor flat. The former secretary is in the old quarter, frequently visited by Parmenna, but never when Fehrt is around. There actually seems to be not contact between Fehrt and Parmenna at all. She hasn't been to Thena's office to speak with Arricnak since the party but is spending her time instead wandering between a non-descript flat in the North of the city and the old quarter. She occasionally goes to a place directly east of Testing. She's gone twice in the past week. Always at night and for a few hours only, leaving before thirteenth hour and returning north, though she tends to drive out of sensor range and then turn up the next morning in the flat.

He hasn't been able to work out what's going on there and it's driving him to distraction. He's almost certain she's heading into the far northern suburbs to make a final contact with her handlers. She can't just wave the information off to them, the Republic monitors the frequencies and he's got a ghost network under that the Nulls set up. Nothing unusual comes from Parmenna's apartment so the hand off can only be face to face. He's got to follow her out there and tie everything up. Then he can get the _shab _off this planet.

Even as he's looking forward to getting more straightforward missions there's a pang as he thinks about Thena. Would she come along, could she? Certainly if he was operating alone having a second pilot, and one who's markedly more skilled than himself to boot, wouldn't be bad. But what about Mi? And what about the people Mi and Thena had crossed out there in the Outer Rim? There were no answers forthcoming and Gregor was a forthright man. The best course of action he saw was to force the issue by wrapping up this job and moving on to the next.

Suddenly there's an awful, squealing hiss. Gregor jumps, sees the test meter in front of him starting to smoke and rips the leads out of the power cell he'd attached them to. The cell sputters and sparks ominously as the meter continues to wail. Gregor feels his ears go hot and the eyes of every person on the Testing floor turning in his direction. Hui comes running from his office.

"What happened?"

"Er, I didn't recalibrate the meter properly before changing test cells."

And he should have, he can do this in his sleep. He's tested cells with just this type of meter when he's doing maintenance on his deece. It's a stupid, ridiculous mistake that he should never have made, would never have made if he'd been properly focused. Now he's gone and drawn attention to himself; stupid.

Hui is shaking his head.

"Are you feeling well Tahy?"

Clearly he thinks Gregor shouldn't have ever screwed up such a simple task as well.

"I'm fine." Gregor snaps.

Hui raises an eyebrow.

"Look, Gregor. How about you decouple from your station for ten and then come by my office?"

Great, wonderful, now he's going to get fired on top of everything else. But he nods and steps away from the station.

"I'll just take the meter to Quality Maintenance." He mumbles.

"You do that." Hui says.

Gregor rushes off the floor, keeping his eyes on his boots lest someone try to stop him and ask what's wrong. He feels two and like he's just improperly diffused the dummy grenade. His palms are sweating so badly he almost loses his grip on the meter. As soon as he's out of sight of the floor he ducks down a little used hallway and leans against the Mer-Son standard, sea-foam green wall.

He bangs the back of his skull on it; punctuating each rap in his head; _stupid, stupid, stupid_. He stops and breathes, let's the memory of the mistake go like Sergeant Tay'haai had taught him to. He hears the man's voice, oddly soft given his very Mando exterior. _What you did is done, _dikut_, now what can you do to repair the damage?_

What could he do? This job is getting to him. He's sleeping less and less. So's Thena. They're being consumed by the vagaries, the unending, unanswerable questions, the need to get just a little more information to confirm their suspicions. They're both terrified of being wrong, of jumping at the wrong time and losing the quarry. It's actually more frightening than the idea that they could be found out. And that's a problem; a great big one. If, when, you got so lost in the pursuit you forgot the danger around you, you became useless as an asset. You were like a drug dealer that got hooked on their own product, essentially useless to your buyers.

He and Thena are right up on that thresh-hold. He's been relying on Thena to pull him back and she's probably been counting on him to do the same. Neither one's capable of that anymore. They've both started to lose perspective.

Gregor breathes in, breathes out and tries to think of a way to repair the damage. He can see it. One more big push, follow Paremenna all the way to her handlers and get that last piece of the network. He needs to concentrate on that and only that if they're going to pull through this mission. Decision made, Gregor dumps the clearly ruined meter into a discreet trash-chute and heads for Hui's office.

Hui isn't in his office when Gregor gets there. He has to wait another five minutes, careful neither to bounce from foot to foot in anxiety or stand at parade rest. Hui hustles up, looks a little surprised to see him, but ushers him in with a smile. Gregor doesn't take the chair offered.

"Mr. Hui, I'd like to tender my resignation, effective immediately."

"Tahy, that's not necessary. This is the first major _kriff_-up you've had. I've never had an employee make so _few_ mistakes in their first three months in fact. "

Gregor feels his palms start to sweat again.

"Nevertheless." He starts. Hui sighs and points at the chair.

"Sit down and don't over-react."

Gregor sits. Hui leans back in his chair and looks at him for a moment.

"Let's go back to what I asked earlier, are you alright? Are you feeling ill? Is it something at home?"

Gregor swallows and shakes his head.

"No, I'm fine."

Hui looks skeptical.

"I know your wife is up in the head office, that's got to be tough"

Gregor frowns and makes a sound that Hui clearly interprets as a protest. He holds a hand up.

"It's not my business, you're right. Look, Tahy, you're a good employee and I don't want to lose you. It's the end of the week, shift's got two more hours. Take those off, take a walk. There's a...thing down at Raks tonight, just shift-grunts. I know Crent said you don't like the Pasek type of entertainment, don't care for it much myself either and if my missus found out...don't get me started. Anyway, why don't you meet Crent at the diner on Duchess and come by? We'd love to have you."

Hui's smiling his loveable, fatherly smile and every instinct in Gregor's head is suddenly screaming that he's in danger. But he's always been in danger here on Kirvella hasn't he? And, come to think of it, from what he's heard of Raks's it's east of the plant. Just where he wants to be to track Parmenna. It's a risk, probably an unnecessary one, but he's already nodding and agreeing to meet Crent at the Royal Inn at six tonight. He just needs that one, final piece of information and then he'll drop the extract code on the Nulls. Just one last bit of confirmation and they're home free.

* * *

He waves Thena to let her know he'll be late. She waves him back to tell him Fehrt's asked her for help on something. Gregor calls her. She picks up on the fourth buzz.

"Be careful." He says before she can even greet him. She sighs.

"Of course. But this is the first time he's asked. And we've got a brand-new weapons system proto-type that's about to be announced."

"Yeah, we're having a meeting about it on my end next week."

"If he's really up to something...won't this be just the thing?"

"I know _Ten'ika_, I know. Just be careful."

"You too baby."

She hangs up before the phrase on the tip of his tongue rolls off. It's probably better that way. He stows the com quickly and turns up his collar against the rising wind. It's two minutes to six and he's outside the Royal Inn waiting for Crent. The man lopes up from Duchess street, sees Gregor and grins.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Er, I think I shouldn't make things worse with that waitress." Crent peers in the windows, catches sight of the woman Gregor accidentally rebuffed when he first arrived and laughs.

"Oh, I see. You're probably right. She can hold a grudge. You should ask Kai about that, hoo boy. I think she spits in his food to this day."

Gregor grimaces.

"Where're we going anyway?" He asks.

"To Raks, follow me, my lad."

The turn east down ninth street, walking with the wind to their backs. Crent is rambling on about the local bollo-ball team, who are terrible this season, as usual. Gregor tries to add a word here and there to seem engaged but the howling gusts make that difficult. Crent doesn't seem to mind. He's in a good mood for the end of the week and talks almost the whole way there.

Raks is a small restaurant way out on the old, little used East Space Dock. It's a ramshackle building that seems to wrap itself around the base of one of the closed Space Lifts. The massive size of the single support strut, of which there are five more, makes Raks's seem small, though on closer inspection the building sprawls on for more than three Kirvella standard blocks in all directions. Crent heaves the door open with considerable, practiced force and Gregor is taken momentarily aback by the light and the din that spills onto the street.

Crent leads him in but get lost quickly in the crush. There's easily two hundred people here Gregor guesses and not all of them are from Testing, not by a long shot. He recognizes a few faces who appear out of the crowd to welcome him and push him on toward the back of the room. He stumbles up to the edge of a makeshift stage, just some boards raised up on old stone blocks along the far wall. Kai and Madan are both suddenly there, beaming and slapping him on the back.

"Welcome!" Kai shouts, face red though his breath doesn't smell of drink.

"I knew you'd come. I knew it." Madan adds, just as strangely elated.

"On your own too, well I guess we suggested it, but I thought you'd have to be...well I was wrong and Mads was right."

Madan laughs.

"Oh it is a day of days, Kai just admitted I was right."

Gregor wants to ask what is going on. This is clearly not a restaurant. There's no tables and the bar on the opposite wall is dusty and derelict. He's got a bad feeling about all of this, especially given who is climbing onto the stage.

Herrox, the malingerer, stands for a moment, hands raised over his head. The crowd falls into silence.

"Brothers and Sisters, I am glad to see so many of you able to join us tonight. I know it grows more and more difficult in these disordered times. Thanks to the stevedore transporters for bringing those from off planet who wished to join us this evening."

He bows to a hulking pair of men in stained coveralls who bow back. Then Herrox continues.

"But I am not here to speak to you about the disorder of the galaxy. You already know it too well and I daresay I have spoken of it often enough."

A chuckle ripples through the room. Herrox smiles for a moment, then speaks on.

"No tonight, brothers and sisters, I have good news. Good news first for us, faithful servants of Mother."

This gets another chuckle.

"But also as citizens who embrace order and progress. Brothers and sisters, Mer-Son industries has been fully approved by those sniveling fools in the Senate to take over the whole of the special weapons contract for the Grand Army of the Republic."

The crowd explodes in cheers. The floor beneath Gregor's feet shakes with the stamping of hundreds of feet. He's again slapped on the back by Madan and Kai who are yelling with almost mad joy. Gregor cheers along as best he can, trying to hide his confusion. After a full five minutes of celebratory noise Herrox holds his hands up again. Gradually, silence returns.

"This is indeed a marvelous development. Finally, the production of munitions for our glorious army is in the hands of people who respect and value strength and hard work. But there is still more to do. We have but half of the work we should. Our competitors still steal the labor that should rightfully be ours to distribute to those who know what it is to work. They envy us. They fear us, brothers and sister, and they will stop and nothing to sabotage us.

"I know for a fact that there is, here on Kirvella, a network of saboteurs who look to undermine us for their own petty gain."

Gregor feels the sweat running down his back. It has nothing to do with the press of bodies. What is this? Has he really been so completely wrong? Have the Separatists always been here in the lower ranks? But they don't sound like Separatists. Herrox is going on about the GAR like it's a good thing. But Herrox's version of the usual Republic propaganda is badly twisted. There's clearly something wrong here.

He tries to stay calm. He's still got his miniature arsenal. He's got a panic switch on his com. All he has to do is trigger it and the Nulls will ride to the rescue. They'll get Thena off world even if he doesn't make it out of this room. He slips a hand into his pocket, cradling the com unit and smiles grimly. Even if he's about to die these _chakaar_ are going to know they've been in a damned fight before he does.

"They are at the very highest level brothers and sisters. We are betrayed by those who have been placed above us by their perverted status quo."

The crowd jeers. Gregor frowns and keeps puts his other hand near the holster of the hold-out blaster along his back.

"But they will not succeed. Chaos and greed will not triumph over order and solidarity. Even now we have our people moving into position. The enemy is cunning but our trap is set. We will capture them and when we do Mother, and those of us who love her, will earn our place in the new order."

Another, shorter but no less hearty cheer goes up. Herrox cuts it off as he begins to pace.

"I ask that you keep the faith now, brothers and sisters. Stay strong, stay the course. They cannot see how we have set the board and moved our pieces against them for they are weak and blinded by their own greed and ambition. But we see as they cannot. Our time is approaching, it grows nearer by the day. With each gun we produce, with each tank, shield and ship the Mother's people build we ensure that our future will not be held in the soft, weak hands of the decadent classes that now rule us. We are laying the foundation for a rule of strength and unity. We are the strong, our values will prevail and those who cherish them equally will stand for us.

"Soon, brothers and sisters. Soon."

He leaps off the stage. Gregor expectd another cheer but, to his surprise Crent clambers onto the boards and begins to speak.

"Strength through Order."

The crowd echoes him.

"Peace thorough Order."

The crowd murmured back like a wave crashing over rocks.

"Certainty through Order."

"Freedom through Order."

The crowd calls back to him each time. The last phrase though is repeated three times, growing louder each time. Gregor shivers at the fanatical light he saw reflected in the eyes of everyone around him. He should chant along, keep his cover, but he can't make his mouth form the words.

Crent steps off the stage and the crowd begins to break into clumps. Gregor noticed Herrox moving among them, stopping to speak to each cluster. He almost jumps when he feels and arm on his elbow. It's Crent, ruddy and beaming.

"You've got to stay on. Herrox needs to ask you something. Welcome to the Select brother, what'd you think?"

Madan and Kai suddenly push in close.

"Well, what'd you think?" Kai repeats.

"Er, I've never heard anything like that."

"Yeah, Herrox can be a bit of a wind-bag." laughs Madan. Crent slaps the back of his head good naturedly.

"We need talkers, they help give the order it's framework."

"What is this?" Gregor finally asks, unable to stop himself. Kai answers him.

"We call it the Select."

"We?"

"The Mer-Son sector. All these people work for Mother, they're from all around the sector. We meet like this once a week or so, as many people from around the sector as possible. There's other groups like us, so Herrox says. He's been to other sectors to meet with some of them."

"Yeah, but why do you meet?"

"Because the Republic rots from within and we would save it." Says Herrox, gliding up next to Gregor. Gregor bristles a little at the man's implication.

"It doesn't look so bad from what I've seen." Herrox smiles like a snake.

"You've not seen much then. But I forget, you are new here. From Mandalorian space?"

Gregor nods.

"There is a culture with much to admire. It values strength and courage. Honesty rather than double dealing and greed. Is that not true?"

Gregor shrugs, still wrong-footed. Herrox smiles wider.

"That is all we want for the Republic. The senate and their witch arbiters weaken us so that they may squat securely on top of the heap while we fight for scraps."

"So you want to get rid of the Senate?"

"No, merely improve it, prune it a bit, replant the good shoots in more fertile soil."

He's got to play along. He's got to find out what they're game is. He shrugs.

"I'm not a political man."

"Neither am I." Kai says.

"Nor me." Adds Crent. "But this isn't about politics."

"What's it about then?"

"Our future."Herrox says, voice oddly hushed. "It's about choosing whether to be inside the building when it inevitably collapses or stepping outside."

"Or shoring up the old building" Gregor points out stubbornly. Herrox smirks at him.

"There is not shoring it up I'm afraid but we can rebuild from the rubble."

"You use a lot of metaphors friend." Gregor growls, tired suddenly "suppose you come out and tell me what you want?"

Herrox looks disappointed that he's not getting to talk more. Crent steps in.

"We need you to get us something. From the Head office."

"No."

"Gregor-"

"No. My wife'll get involved. I don't want her involved."

"We'll protect her."

"We won't need to protect her if we succeed." snaps Herrox. "We need the plans for the proto-type. We need you to switch them out actually, with another set."

"That's too risky."

"I have assurances." Herrox whispers, leaning close, "from the very top that you'll be in minimal danger."

"Minimal isn't no danger."

"This is vital to our next step Gregor." Herrox says. Gregor dislikes his wheedling tone and let's that color his expression.

"Look I'm just here for a job and a better life for my family. Why should I take a risk for you, especially when you can only give me guarantees in words?"

"We thought..." Kai begins. Crent cuts him off.

"We'd thought, given where you come from that you might have...skills we didn't."

For an instant Gregor thinks they're talking about his Commando training. Then he remembers where he's supposed to be from.

"Because I'm Mandalorian." He says. It's not a question but they nod. Gregor smirks and plays along.

"I hung up my armor years ago and I'm hardly a merc of the first water."

"But you are...were a merc." Crent says. Gregor gives his best world-weary shrug.

"Yeah but I'm gonna need more than words if you want me to take it back up. I can't be a line grunt and your muscle. You've got to pick."

"We'll pay you." Snaps Herrox. Gregor sees the sudden contempt in his eyes.

"Pay me what?"

"How much do you want?"

Gregor's thinking at very near light-speed. He's got the ghost of a plan. It's probably illegal and maybe unworkable but if it does succeed...He sighs and fixes Herrox with a beady eye.

"No, no, you don't just come out and ask, boy. I do this I'm gonna have to leave town. Tell you what, I do your job for you, or rather I get my wife to do it, and you give us a ship, void safe, upgraded hyper-drive and, let's say, four hundred thousand creds."

"That's outrageous." Hisses Herox. Crent laughs a little.

"Blimey, you are Mando aren't you lad."

Gregor shrugs. Let them think what they want about Mandalorians, it doesn't matter to him. If they bite, and he thinks they will now he's gotten Thena another ship and a very tidy nest egg to go into hiding with.

"How about the ship and two hundred creds?" Crent counters.

"I'll need to see it beforehand and how about three fifty?"

"A reasonable request. And you'll get three hundred, not a cred more." Crent says, still genial.

"Fine. I want to see the ship before I do this. And I to berth it somewhere of my choosing."

"No way." Snarls Herrox. Crent holds up a hand.

"I'll need to talk to our chief about that but I think he'll be amenable. But the money you only get on the completion of the job."

"I'll give you a secure account to wire it to."

"Good man." Crent says, wolfish grin spreading across his thick features. He extends his hand, spits in the palm and presents it to Gregor. Gregor spits in his own palm and shakes with Crent.

"Certainty through Order." Crent says. Gregor drops his hand.

"I don't care about your revolution. But I think you already knew that when you brought me here." Crent's smile is bigger than ever.

"I suspected."

* * *

Thena is pacing back and forth in the front room when he opens the door to the apartment. She doesn't let him get through a greeting.

"He asked me for the plans Gregor, the proto-type plans. He wants to review them on his own time before the big presentation next week. He wanted me to convert them into an easily transferable form."

Gregor's stomach does a wild somersault. He doesn't need to ask her who she's talking about. It can only be Fehrt.

"Did you?"

"No. I...stalled. I wanted to tell you about it first. I told him I'd work extra on it tomorrow."

He sits heavily on the couch, head spinning. She drops down in front of him on the floor, legs crossed one over the other like a child's.

"What? Should I have done it?"

"No, no. I...it's just..._Ten'ika_ I was at a...meeting I suppose and that man Herrox, I told you about him right?"

She nods.

"Anyway Hui told me to go and Crent took me and Madan and Kai were there and Herrox stood up and talked a lot of rot about the decay of the Republic but, they asked me to switch out those same plans for a different set. Before the launch."

Thena rocks on her hips, frowning.

"So they're all working for the Separatists? Fehrt and those guys on the line too? The Nulls were right about there being two leaks?"

"It looks that way."

"But why do they both need the plans? That's strange isn't it?" Thena asks, voicing the question that's nagging him too. He gives her the only answer he's got, though it sounds flimsy to him.

"I think so but then again the Seps aren't exactly the most coherent bunch most of the time."

"So we did it? We got them?"

Thena grins, elated and leaps into his lap, kissing him hard. He sets his hands on her hips to stop her.

"Not yet _Ten'ika_. We've still got to get those plans swapped out and transferred."

"Why?"

"Evidence woman."

"Okay, I'll do it tomorrow and then we're done! We're real spies or I am anyway. I guess you already were. Do we get something for this? Like a plaque or something?"

He laughs at her enthusiasm and kisses her again.

"They don't traditionally give you anything."

"Oh," she pouts. He slips a finger under her chin and brings her face up so he can look into her beautiful black eyes. Her good mood suddenly infectious. He smiles at her, pleased with himself for thinking ahead on this job.

"But I might have done a little off-books accounting."

"Yeah?" She grins lasciviously. He swats her ass playfully.

"No, real accounting. How does three hundred thousand creds and another ship sound?"

"What?"

" I may have played the greedy Mando merc to the revolutionary front."

"And they gave you a ship?"

"I'm very convincing"

She snorts.

"Yeah, maybe. What kind of ship?"

He reaches for his pad. He'd gotten a com message from Crent on his way home that the ship specs and landing site had been waved to his, really Thena's but Crent didn't need to know that, secure file dump. He types in the address and password, then hands her the pad.

"This kind."

She leans back, gripping his upper thighs with her knees for balance as she puruses the pad, biting her lower lip as she assess her windfall.

"Hmm, B7 Loronar, not my favorite. But the drive's original which means it's decent. Good resale if nothing else." She looks up at him "Are you sure about these people?"

"Not especially, but I'll check it out for you tomorrow. See if they're as good as they're word."

"_Kriff_ that I want to see it."

"After I move it."

She grouses. He grabs her chin and looks into her eyes again.

"After I move it. I don't want you too involved. Let me do this, okay?"

She squirms for a moment but nods.

"Fine. You can do it while I'm switching those files."

"No dice _Ten'ika_. I'm switching them."

"Hey, I thought we were partners on this?"

Now it's his turn to squirm. She glares at him.

"I'm already in this up to my neck. I'm not about to just sit back and let you finish it all off."

"There's nothing fun about what's coming Thena."

"_Kriff_ fun. I am not just going to hang around her waiting for you and worrying myself grey headed."

"I want to take a look at Fehrt's other files too."

"There's a lot of them. Half are on flimsi. I'll help."

He sighs and looks away. Or he tries to but Thena's taken a leaf from his book and is holding his face in her cool, pale hands. Her eyes are like deep tunnels he could wander down into forever.

"Gregor you're not going this alone. I love you. I'm helping."

She kisses him before he can answer but he's too stunned to kiss her back for a moment. Then he wraps his arms completely around her and kisses her back. It's like kissing her for the first time, heady and wild. But this time he's all here. There's no amnesia, no shadow selves tormenting him. He's whole. He's present and accounted for in every way possible as he presses her back onto the couch.

"So yes?" She gasps as they come up for air.

He unsticks his voice after a moment's effort.

"Yes. Yes you can help." He answers. It's the only answer he can give her right now.

She laughs as he starts to kiss down her neck. He loves the taste of her, the feel of her legs on his back. He loves her. He didn't even know that was possible. He loves her and it's far better and more terrifying than anything he can imagine. Because she loves him back. They have to talk about this because...there's too many becauses to think about right now. Right now he lets himself fall into the texture of Thena's skin and the warm black night of her eyes.

* * *

After some 120,000+ words those two kids finally work out they're in love...aww. (Don't rag on me about how the timing isn't realistic. It took me like three and a half years to realize I was in love with my very patient (now) husband.)

So everyone's a bad guy! Kind of! You'll see.

**Next Time:** Computer hacking, ship stealing and some good-Samaritan mechanics. But all is not as it seems (obviously) and what are the Nulls up to anyway?

**ETA on the bonus material:** Is up on AO3.

And thank you to everyone who expressed their condolences/sympathy for my dog. I am deeply touched and it meant a lot in the aftermath.


End file.
